UBfWRT ^mm Of CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDf -^ NEW LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE VOL. II UNIFORM IN SIZE WITH NEW LETTERS AND MEMORIALS OF JANE WELSH CARLYLE. Demy 8vo and THE NEMESIS OF FROUDE .,"^1 .^jf-viv:- ^i f ■5((S&TtlT--w'* CARLYLE AND FRITZ. In Hyde Park, 2 Aug.. 1861. NEW LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE EDITED AND ANNOTATED BY ALEXANDER CARLYLE WITH ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME II JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LONDON & NEW YORK MDCCCCIV 1 Copyright by JOHN LANE 1904 Set up and electrotyped by The Publishers' Printing Co., New York, U.S.A. Printed by The Caxton Press, New York, U.S.A. ILLUSTEATIONS. 1. Carltle on Fritz. {Drawn in LWiography by T. R. Way. ¥fom a Plwtograph taken in Hyde Park, 2d August, 1861.) . Frontispiece To face page 2. ScoTSBEiG House and Farm - Buildings. Home of Carlylc's Parents from May, 1826, to the end of their lives. {From a Photo- graph by JoJin Patrick.) 83 3. Jane Welsh Carlyle. {From a Pliotograpli by R. Tait.) . . 93 4. Margaret Aitken Carlyle (Carlyle's Mother). {From the Portrait in oils, by Maxwell, in the possession of the Editor.) . 274 5. TU0.MA8 Carlyle. {From a Pfiotograph by Elliott <& Fry, 1865.) . 324 NEW LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE VOL. II NEW LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE LETTER 157 To Edward FitzGerald. Chelsea, 23 August, 1845. Dear FitzGerald — . . , Here is another small job for you. It seems a possibility at present that I may put in some- where, by way of Appendix, these Anecdotes of Mrs. Bendysh,* which are in Noble (ii. 329). Now will you read those pages of Noble, once more, carefully over, with an eye that way. You will find one does not learn where Mrs. Bendysh lived (' near Yarmouth somewhere'), what her or her husband's business was, or anything about their economic peculiarities and earthly localities; — so that the whole matter looks there very much like a thing in Drury Lane. Now I want you to ask the Essex Archdeacon,! or whoever he or she is that descends from Mrs. Bendysh, whether there is not ill the Family any certain knowledge as to all these points, uiy clear Tradition even, — any light to be had that would complete what you see to be wanting in the business. You Lave a Nohle have you not? or can get one about Bedford? I could cut you out these leaves and send them by post. Per- haps that will be best? You will then at once see what is wanting in general there. For the rest, the thing, if at all, will ♦ Cromwell's Granddaughter by Ireton. — E. F. G. t Bemers, of Woolvcrstone, Suffolk. — E. F. G. Vol. II. -1 1 2 New Letters of be ncedod in a day or two. — So here go the leaves at a venture! Edit them yourself (make them ready for editing): that is a task I set you! Till this day week: — then return them to me with what you have made out. Laurence, I am told, is now down in that quarter; actually gone thither with commission to take the Portrait.* Yours ever truly, T. Carlyle. LETTER 158 To Alexander Carlyle, Brantford, Canadal Scotsbrig, 30 September, 1845. My dear Brother — The time for the Packet drawing nigh, I being here where your chief interests all lie, cannot but get a line ready for you. I got to Scotsbrig almost three weeks ago, and have been loitering about, doing very little; but I can at least tell you the news of this Household, which I am very sure will be a welcome service to you. Our dear old Mother was in waiting for me that morning Jamie brought me up from the Steamer; she has run about unweariedly ever since, and nothing can prevent her from the most restless endeavour to make her guest better and better off, — far better than he has any need or wish of. She is in what one must call very good health for her; not much weaker than when I saw her last: her hands shake a little more, I think, and that is almost all the change one notices in her. She varies considerably, however, from day to day; has slept indifferently * Of Oliver, done in miniature by Cooper, in possession of Arch- deacon Berners aforesaid; Laurence's copy of it being engraved as Frontispiece to Carlyle's Book. — E. F. G. Thomas Carlyle 3 last night, for instance, — we cannot expect her now to be strong. She does not mourn audibly for your absence; indeed she says expressly with thankfulness, you seem for all your sadness of mind to be doing really better than there was any clear chance of here. Good Mother! She is quite cheery yet, when mod- erately well in health; looks back with still resignation on many a sorrow, and forward with humble pious trust. It is beautiful to see how in the gradual decay of all other strength, the strength of her heart and affection still survives, as it were, fresher than ever; — the soul of Life refuses to grow old with the body of Life; one of the most affecting sights! We were talking last night of the death of Margaret,— that unforgettable night when you and I rode down from Craigenputtock; — and were all again, as it were, brought together, the Dead of us and the Absent of us; in a sad but to me very solemn and profitable manner. — I am far from happy here; indeed in real fact, had I consulted but my own lazy feelings, I had much rather not have come: nobody knows what inexpressible sorrow and confusion it is to me to look on this old Annandale in these sick humours of mine. How- ever, I am very thankful I did come. Amid the muddy con- fusions outward and inward, there are things taught me here which I can learn nowhere else. Let us be thankful for many blessings such as fall to the lot of few. Good Parents whom you can honour, it is the foundation of all good for a man. [Here follows a long minute account of all the members of the Family.] . . . This is nearly all the news I have to give of Scots- brig. As to the rest, I have seen almost nobody, nobody at all that I could help seeing; and can only report in general that the people seem all busy harvesting; that the weather is very plashy and wet. Indeed our Sunmier over all the Island was 4 New Letters of generally dim and cold; people say the harvest is much better than was once expected. A very bad feature of it, however, is the Disease of the Potatoes: almost everywhere the Potatoes when nearly ripe arc seized by a kind of murrain; wither in the stems; the Potato itself gets black-spotted, soft, and slowly or fast indubitably goes to mush. Jamie thinks he has lost about half of his: he has put up his swine to eat them as fast as possible out of the way. It is thought by some the Potato is about refusing to grow any more in these climates; which will be a frightful business indeed! All over Holland, Germany, etc., as well as in Britain and Ireland, this Potato Epidemic is prevalent, to a great extent, I fear, tho' nobody as yet can tell how great. Near Frank Graham the Tailor's house (a little on the Skail- wood side) is seen a heap of dug earth among the corn: it marks the course of the Railway in that quarter; which is just to be begun; and has raised wages, as I was saying: for two years there will likely be a greater briskness of demand for labour, and then the demand will end again; indeed it will mainly be the Irish that do the digging, I suppose; they are already crowd- ing in great quantities into this quarter. . . . Dear Brother, you must write a Letter to us soon; you will have more leisure now that the Winter is coming. A Letter of Tom's giving a minute account of all the domestic stock is still spoken of with much praise here! Tell him to try it again; and Jane too. You cannot be too minute. I must be off homewards again, in some week or ten days. The Book is coming out, I believe. You shall hear of me again. Farewell. T. C. . All here salute you; I design to make my Mother write her TJiomas Carlyle 6 own salutations, tho' her hand shakes. My blessings on you one and all. Be diligent, patient: "Work and hope! " P. S.—By his Mother: My dear Aliek — I would like to write to you if I could, as this will testify; but send you my best wishes. Thank Tom for his good Letter; and tell Jane and him to write soon and tell me all their news. May God keep and guide you all in His ways and fear, which is the prayer of your old Mother. — Give my kindest love to Jenny and all the dear little ones. May you all be in God's keeping. M. A. G. LETTER 159* To His Wife, Chelsea: Scotsbrig, 8th October, 1845. Dearest — Perhaps you will be anxious if I do not write a word this night; you shall have a little bulletin, therefore, — tho' otherwise there is almost less than nothing to be said. For in truth I am not very well — which means first of all, that I am dreadfully lazy, indisposed for any exertion but that of breathing: ... I go strolling out every morning; wind round generally till I intercept the Postman; if I find a Letter from you in his pocket, it is the event of the day: I return homo with it glad; get into the easiest combination of chairs, with some silly Book in my hand, or without any Book, except my own foolish faculties of Memory and Anticipation; and so, with a few dawdlings out and in, to the hilltop or farther, pensively pass tho day. To-morrow T hope to be brisker; to-night, not * Tliis letter is in reply to No. 06, " New Letters und Memorials." New Letters of liaving yet had walking cnoiigli, I propose to go to l*iCclofechan with this: walking undor cloud of night being still much to my taste. Our weather yet continues dry; all the world has a certain mournful beauty, and sings strange unrhymed stanzas to me as I rove about in it. — I thank you for reminding me that 1 must wTite to Mrs. Russell; I will certainly do it to-morrow, if all go right. The Printers sent me my Index*; another day had to be spent on that; it is now all fairly finished, and I hope never to hear of it more. Probably to-morrow the Title-page with the other adjuncts w^ill arrive; then I shall bid good-b'ye to the whole business, — heartily sick of it, as I ever was of any. What next? We shall see by and by. My appetite for writing is considerably modified: but I have no other trade, — why should I wish any other? I will stick by my trade; and say a thing or two yet, if I live! What you tell me to-day of Tennyson's Pension is very welcome indeed. Poor Alfred, may it do him good; — "a Wife to keep him unaisy," will be attainable now, if his thoughts tend that way. I admire his catholicity of humour too: "Would prefer a lady, but," etc. If ... By the bye, was it not I that first spoke of that Pension, and set it afloat in the world! In that case it may be defined as our ukase not less than Peel's. This world is a most singular place! . . . Did you ever hear of Jane Johnston, — or of Mr. Johnston her Father, the drunken Surgeon, at Moffat, who used to beat his Wife (a Carlyle of the Satur), and forced her at last to leave him, with this one child; who was at School with me forty years * Of Cromwell. t See " New Letters and Memorials," i. 180. Thomas Carlyle 7 ago and more? I daresay you know whom I mean. She be- came the Beauty of Annan; really a clever girl I believe: she went to see an Aunt in France, who had married the Titular- Hen of that Coimtry, and gone over with him at the Peace: Jane married there too, and retired to the South of France with her Husband, as I think you already know too. Well, some time ago there came news hither of this tragic tenor: Husband and Jane went out to drive by some mountainous path one evening; the horse took fright, or misbehaved; all was overset; Jane alighted on the road, or caught by bushes; Husband and gig went down into the chasm : Jane on clambering down found him lying stone-dead; had to watch there all night to guard his body from wolves! — She has two children; she is older a little than I. Sunt lachrymco rerum. My FriedrichderGrosse* went done last night: I read it with many reflexions; mean to inquire yet farther about the man. Der Grosse Fritz: if I had any turn for travelling, I should hold it very interesting indeed to go to Berlin, and try to make more acquaintance with him and his people. They are both of them very strange. Alas, what is the meaning of this that they call Literature? "German Literature" should have contrived to give us some melodious image of this greatest German Man, living in very difficult circumstances, next door neighbour to it! German Literature too is but a smallish matter in comparison. Not a word to-night about my home-coming. This is not a night for taking resolutions: all I can say is. The time is now nigh. Total Idleness does not answer me long. Mitd super- * " I have a good book of Preuss's on Frederick the Great, whicli I am reading with satisfaction," Carlyle had written on the 23rd of Sep- tember. 8 New Letters of added would nlinost instantly send mo off. For the rest I really am getting a little better in health, — really but very slowly. You would smile to see my diet: two light-boiled eggs with a cup of curcls-ancl-cream, I have dined twice upon that. — Jamie advances rapidly in his shearing. Isabella seems to be a little better; comes up stairs almost every day. Our Butter was churned and put up two days ago. Is your meal done, or how? Adieu dear Goody mine! I love thee very well after all, my lassie! T. C. LETTER 160 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 9th November, 1845. Dear Jean — I might as well have left you that imperfect Copy of the Cromwell Book; the delay in publication has been greater than I anticipated. However it is now about coming out; if all goes right you will receive a big Packet in the early days of December, and one of the Copies for yourself, to read at your leisure in the winter time They have advertised it to come out on the 22d of this month. They are getting a Por- trait engraved, — which I fear will not do much for it; the En- graver seemed a very feckless creature when I went to overhaul him. What is still worse, you will find it a surprisingly dull book; — and you and the Public must make up your minds for a piece of hard work in reading it, or else you will make nothing of it !— I felt myself in rather good case when I arrived here, and so was Jane, too; but the cold fogs came upon us unawares. . . . Thomas Carlyle 9 We have now however got westerly airs again; and the weather for November is beautiful. . . . No work, or anything deserving the name, is likely to come out of me for a great while yet! I do nothing hitherto but read a little; and "dauner" about. Nay, on Friday or Saturday next we are to set off for our visit to the South Coast: great folks, very kind to us, and extremely rational, worthy people; — they promise me "a horse," and all manner of nice things; and the winter clhnate, I believe, is the best or one of the best in England, a thing that may be very useful, especially for Jane. How long we shall be able to stand it, is not settled yet; so long as it is pleasant; and that will depend on several things, — on my going idle, or being allowed fairly to work a little, for one thing! If you hear no more, you will suppose us to be there on Saturday next; — the place is near Portsmouth, close by the sea-shore, a mile or two from the Isle of Wight; about 70 miles by Railway, from this. You will write to us there by and by; the address is T. C, etc., Hon. W. Bingham Baring,* Bay House, Alverstokc, Hants. The Doctor is very busy, working at a Translation of Dante. A long job: but now that he is got fairly fastened, I think he will complete it, and it may be really good for something,— better than nothing, as I say!— Good be with you, dear Jean. Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. * Afterwards Lord Ashburton. 10 New Letters of LETTER 161 To the Rev. Alexander Scott, Paris. Bay House, Alverstoke, Hants, 5 December, 1845. Dear Scott — Your Letter reached me here a few days ago; and I may truly say has given me very great pleasure. That you adopt the view I have taken up about Ohver, and approve of my most ungainly ineffectual labour in regard to him, and give me your kind and hearty "Euge!" from over the water, — this is a really precious thing to me. The first voice of approval I have heard on the matter; of a sincerity and an insight not to be doubted. I will take it as the omen that by and by many more such, nay in a certain sense at last all such, will be added; and the poor Work turn out to be actually worth something. It has been a work of infinite disgust and hopeless toil; on the whole really a kind of pious work, — more like a work of piety than any other I have done. So far as this is the case it already has its reward: and for the rest, if the practical English mind do gradually come to understand, and beheve as a very fact, that it once had a Hero and Heroism in this man and his work, my poor dry bones of a Compilation may prove to be a better "Poem" than many that go by that name! We will leave it with the Destinies; right glad that we, not entirely disgrace- fully, have got done with it, — ungainly as it is in these bad days. You ask me how I proceed in taking Notes on such occa- sions. I would very gladly tell you all my methods if I had any; but really I have as it were none. I go into the business with all the intelligence, patience, silence and other gifts and virtues that I have; find that ten times or a hundred times as many Thomas Carlyle 11 could be profitably expended there, and still prove insufficient: and as for plan, I find that every new business requires as it were a new scheme of operations, which amid infinite bungling and plunging unfolds itself at intervals (very scantily, after all) as I get along. The great thing is, Not to stop and break down; to know that virtue is very indispensable, that one must not stop because new and ever new drafts upon one's virtue must be honoured! — But as to the special point of taking Ex- cerpts, I think I universally, from habit or otherwise, rather avoid writing beyond the very minimum; mark in pencil the very smallest indication that will direct me to the thing again; and on the whole try to keep the whole matter simmering in the living mind and memory rather than laid up in paper bundles or otherwise laid up in the inert way. For this certainly turns out to be a truth: Only what you at last have living in your own memory and heart is worth putting down to be printed; this alone has much chance to get into the living heart and memory of other men. And here indeed, I believe, is the essence of all the rules I have ever been able to devise for myself. I have tried various schemes of arrangement and artificial helps to remembrance; paper-bags with labels, little paper-books, paper- bundles, etc., etc.: but the use of such things, I take it, depends on the habits and humours of the individual; what can be re- commended universally seems to me mainly the above. My paper-bags (filled with little scraps all in pencil) have often enough come to little for mo; and indeed in general when writ- ing, I am surrounded with a rubbish of papers that have come to little:— this only will come to much for all of us. To keep the thing you are (elaborating as much as possible actually in your own living mind; in order that this same mind, as much awake 12 New Letters of as possible, may have a chance to make something of it! — And so I will shut up my lumber-shop again ; and wish you right good speed in yours. In fact it seems to me this Life of Dante, if you were once fairly in the heart of it, would prove an excellent thing for you; the beginning of still better things; for yourself and for all of us. Can you not begin straightway to write? There is no end of inquiring; you never know what course you will go in, till you begin to experiment: it is a battle between the material and you. . . . My Wife and I are here on the mild Hampshire coast on a visit to the Barings; a very strange existence for us; pleasant enough for the time; — and utterly idle. One wonders how a human Day is made to eat its own head off in so complete a manner! Most beautiful, most elegant, princely; but in the long run it would be suicidal. I contrive to save a long ride out of it for my own behoof; "a few reasonable words" as Goethe says; and at night a long spell of music, which in the silence, brings innumerable strange old thoughts, scenes and emotions, up into the private theatre again, to parade there, actually not much different from spectres I think! — . . . All hands are here rejoicing since yesternight that Peel has decided to abolish the Corn-Laws : total and immediate! There is really something brave in poor Peel. . . . Adieu, dear Scott. May God be with you always: so prays very sincerely Yours always, T. Carlyle. Thomas Carlyle 13 LETTER 162 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 4 January, 1846. Dear Jean — We came home about a week ago; so you can now direct the poor Courier hither again: the two strokes on the back of it will at least be welcome to me! We had six very idle weeks down in Hampshire yonder;* — the idlest I can remember of my life; really nothing done at all, day after day, except dress, talk, eat and sleep (the latter, alas, rather imperfectly in my case!), — ^with flunkies running about you, and superfluous accommodations, at all hours! However the place was beautiful, and the climate: and here we are again, safe through it all; safe, or even perhaps slightly improved in some particulars. I expected some composure here, and no great press of business; but am again obliged to fall to work, full tilt. Con- trary to all expectation the Book on Cromwell proves popular; there is to be a new Edition of it before long! New Letters, etc., have turned up for me, which tho' of no great importance intrinsically, I am loth to omit: so, once more, I am obliged to duck into those horrid quagmires from which I had fancied myself forever escaped, — and am again making a considerable " swatter "1i there! Happily it will not be long till the brunt of this second bout is over; and, at any rate (for there is nothing essential to be changed), I can make it as short as I like. No- * At Bay lIou.sc, Mr. and Ludy Harriet Baring's, t Splashing. 1 4 Neto Letters of body has a right to complain that a Second Edition of his Book is needed! It means more cash to him, among other things. — Considerable reviewing of tlie Book goes on; very little of which do I soo, no jot of it seek after. Here, in that Nation News- paper which I send you to-day, is some balderdash of O'Con- nell's on the subject: mere jackassery; "di the naither ill na' guid!"— Jack is actually coming home to you; making ready now to be off, next week. He is busy with some Translation of Dante; which is much better than doing nothing; it holds his hand in use, which of itself is something. We yesterday wrote away to AUck; his last Letter was a brave-looking one, and pleased us well for all its sadness. Times do not look quiet in this part of the Earth: Corn- Law struggling, etc., etc., and too probably Famine in the rear of all. Our Potatoes here (the "best Potatoes," which also are imeatable) are selling at the rate of Four for three half-pence: they, and all the Potatoes we can get, are infected and uneat- able, gradually rotting; we have decided to give them up here, and take to rice, or one knows not what. Many poor creatures are already on the streets with a look of pinching hunger in their faces: Ah me! — I have a proof Print of Cromwell here, which I have some thought of sending to you for framing. Send me a Letter soon. Blessings to you all. Yours ever, T. Carlyle. Thomas Carlyle 15 LETTER 163 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 3 March, 1846. Dear Brother — I want news again out of Annandale; it is not that I can promise much or ahnost anything of my own, in such a confusion as I am still surrounded with! I believe [ have a natural talent for being in a hurry; which is a very bad talent. I might go along much more leisurely at present: yet I am always in a bustle; always feel as if, except at the top of my speed, I were not making any progress at all. — ^You must send me some further tidings of Scotsbrig and my Mother, and what you are all about there : that is the purport of my writing at present. I wrote a hasty Letter to Alick to-day too, as well as many things else: and I wind up the night with this little word of request to you. The Printers have got pretty well thro' the First Volume; have some of their men busy upon the Second, I believe. I, for my part of it, am got into the second Invasion of Scotland as far as Dunbar Battle: I have clapt-in a variety of things; got the Supplement to the First Edition, etc., organized: and on the whole seem as if I had the back of the work broken; as if after about a month more of fiking * and cobbling (in a most painful }ascheous-\ manner), I should have little left but to cor- rect the Proofs that miglit remain. For my Third Volume is to have almost no change, that I yet know of. But something or other always starts up; and every new thing, is like fitting- ♦ Being hiisy with trifles. t Troublesome, irksome. 1 1> New Letters of in a new stare into a made stoup; * an excessively unpleasant kind of work! . . . Jane is gone up to Lady Harriet's to-night; the Lady sends her carriage of an evening for Jane, and they spend a couple of hours, talking, reading a thought of German (this I believe is rather rare), more frequently playing chess than doing German. Jane is sent home again between ten and eleven, — safe by the same conveyance. . . . Our Corn-Law has to go thro' the Lords yet: the Commons majority of 97 was far beyond anybody's expecta- tion; it does not seem likely that the Tories will persist in the Lords' to the uttermost extremity: but indeed I do not much care, for one ! The chief influence it has on me is that of nearly insupportable tedium wherever I come athwart the talk about it: the thing is to be done; fiat then. {End of letter wanting.) LETTER 164 To His Mother, Scotshrig] Chelsea, 13 March, 1846. My dear good Mother — I am getting on better here than, I suppose, you sometimes apprehend by my blameworthy silences. In fact, it is not strenuous heavy labour at all that I have to do with; it is rather infinite jash and fikery,^ writing innumer- able Notes to stupid people, etc., etc., which provokes me much, and consumes all my time. However, the Printer is now fairly done with the First Volume; and / have, this moment, got done with the Second, and have it all ready for him; and as for * A small wooden bucket. t Troublesome and trivial work. Thomas Carlyle 17 the Third Volume, it is a much lighter job, and requires very little in comparison. So about ten days hence, I expect really to have only the Appendix to do;— and in no great length of time to be free of that also; and have only Proofshects to read; which will give me a deal more of leisure, and be a very wel- come change!— I have added some 45 Letters or more; and done the Book no ill. Some of the new Letters you will like much: indeed I am not sure but you will have to read the whole Book again! — Considering the frivolous humour of most men, it is matter of great surprise to me how so many have taken to read this Book; and how very universally my character of [Cromwell] has been recognised as actually [correct]. So I must not grudge my labour upon it. In all probability this is the usefullest business I shall ever get to do in the world; this of rescuing the memory of a Noble and Thrice Noble Man from its disfigurement, and presenting him again to a world that stands much in need of the like of him: I do not know any worthier work a poor son of Adam that pretends to write at all could do, in the writing way! — We have beautiful Spring weather here, though occasionally dim: I stay much within doors, and heed little the external babblements of Corn-Law and the like. Indeed I [lorn] them. I go up to visit the [Barings] about once a week and that is almost my only outgoing. — Jane is going with the Lady Harriet out to the Country next week, about ten miles off;* to stay for a month, going and coming: I too am to go and come occasion- ally. It is a very pleasant place and will do her good.f . . . Dear Mother, I wish you would write me a little Line, were * Addisoombe Farm. fSce "N(!W Letters and Memorials," i., 184, et seq. Vol. II.— 2 IS New Letters of it never so shal-y. I wish at least somebody would tell me spe- cilirally how you are! Take care of the cold East winds; they are not good at this season; take care of yourself, dear Mother! — I will write again soon. My blessings to you all. Jane is out, and cannot send her regards. Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 165 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 16 April, 1846. Dear Jean — . . . I forgot till this morning what was due to the poor sick Grier. Here are two sovereigns for the poor creature: the order is in James's name: you may either give the whole at once, or give it in instalments, as you know to be suitablest: perhaps, if his wife is a careful body, the whole at once might be cheerfuller for them. — Do not forget at any- time to give me some hint when any one belonging at all to me is in distress. There is no duty so sacred as that of pitying one another, and trying (what is rarely possible) to help one another a little. The poor Griers. — Ah me! My Printers are nearly done with the Second Volume, — some three days of it yet. A month more, and then! Emer- son has made a bargain for me in America for this new Edition; if anything come of that, we shall see. I had a Letter from him yesterday; and a strange dud of a Yankee Newspaper, which Jane has now got, and I think will send to some of you. . . . Thomas Carlyle in LETTER 166 To Alexander Carlyle, Brantford, Canada. Cheisea, 18 April, 1846. My dear Brother — . . . Your Letter pleased me very much; and your new name of Bield,* — ^"better a wee bush than nae bield"; across the Water too, the same great sky envelopes us all I I am very glad and very sad both in one, to figure you toiling like a man, in your vocation, far away there. Brother Jack seems to lament that you are not merry of humour or of situation: alas, there is not any "mirth" for any of us any more! A serious heart can hope to be calm in this most serious world; but need not long to be joyful: joy is not our portion here; grim battle is; and some victory, — and what of peaceable and good the Great Father, in the Eternities, has appointed for us after battle! Courage! my brave Brother. We will try to work well and wisely, whether sad or cheerful, each in his task here; and look not to changeful Fortune, but to something far beyond that, for our blessedness. — And withal let us not be sad, but quiet, clear and free; prepared for all things, I also liked little Jane's Letter immensely! Poor little creature: it seems but yesterday when I first saw her on your knee at Scotsbrig, with little hands like her Father's; and now she is growing a young Canada lass, full of sense and spirit I see; and will do a pretty part there, I hope! The Letter is to be returned from Scotsbrig for Jane's (my Jane's) especial ♦ For Alick Carlylc's homestead. Bield, ScoUice for shelter. 20 New Letters of perusal, who being in the Country * still has not yet seen it. She comes home now in two clays; and this is ended. I have sent Utile Jane a Newspaper to-day, or kintl of three-halfpenny Journal, as memorial of me. The Irish are starving, llu^-e will be bad work before the new food of the year can come! Our Parliament meanwhile goes on debating its Anti-Corn-Law; perfectly plain that Peel must prevail, — so that few people read their jargon: neverthe- less there it goes on, and will go, it is said, throughout the whole Session. . . . Adieu, dear Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 167 To Thomas Ballantyne, Manchester. Chelsea, 28th April, 1846. Dear Sir — I have received your copy of the Examiner to-day; and am very glad indeed to see you get along so handsomely. Continue to tell a straight manful story about what comes before you; and people will not fail to listen. They are getting every day more prepared to hear one's full mind spoken about all manner of matters. Since I saw you I have passed an evening with Mr, Cobden ; whom I found, what all the world find him, a most distinct, ingenuous, energetic well-conditioned man; — ^very like getting through ivork; of which he has already done a good spell, and will yet have more to do. Nobody here seems in the least to understand what will become of the Parliament and Peel's * At Addiscombe Farm, with Lady Harriet Baring. Thomas Carlyle 21 Bill; nobody that I see reads a word of the Debates, all men seem sick of them, none knows where they will end. The con- fusion seems deepening every day; and to me at times issues lie visible in it which are very far from exhilarating! We must even let the Destinies do their will. The new edition of Cromwell is now out of my hands, all but the Proofsheets; the Printers say they will have it ready about the beginning of June. It has met with a very unex- pected reception in the world: — I fancy in fact it will far sur- vive all my other Books; and may be the beginning of great benefit to this bewildered world, in various ways. Since Mr. Espinasse * is still with you, I wish you would im- part to him (send after him to Edinburgh if necessary) the fol- lowing tidings: That there are to be, either here or in America, or in both countries, new editions straightway of these Books of mine, The Miscellanies, Sartor, Heroes, French Revolution; the whole of which I have to read over again for errors. Mr. Espinasse knows what is expected of him, according to his opportunities, in that case. Heroes and F. Revolution I believe come first. If you will tell him this, it is all the message. — I am very glad you made him halt a while in Manchester: I hope you will find some good work for him there yet. He will ♦Francis Espinasse, author of "Literary Recollections," a most interesting and valuable book. Espinasse was for many years a valued friend of Carlyle ; and the story quoted by Mrs. Carlyle in Letter 127 of the " New Letters and Memorials," about his "renouncing his allegiance to Carlyle," was "the .spifiTul invention of an onciiiy" of Espinasse, and is totally devoid of truth. The story was repeated by Mrs. Carlyle simply to amuse her husband, and was, of course, never believed by him or her. The friendly relations between Mr. Espinasse and Carlyle were never interrnptf'd ; and Carlyh; to the last always spoke and wrote of his old friend with a kindly and grateful feeling. — Mr. Espinasse is hapjjily .still living (1U03). 22 New Letters of quit his "Sarcasms" by and by; and open himself abroad to more gonial recognitions, which will come out in a fruitfuller dialect. I am in nmch haste, as usual ; I send you many good wishes and regards; and remain always, Very sincerely yours, T. Garlyle. LETTER 168 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 18 July, 1846. Dear Jean — . . . Just a fortnight ago Jane went off to Lancashire; in a rather weakly way, much worn down by the hot confusions of this place : she is with the Paulets ever since,* and very quiet by the seashore; which, I hope, will by and by tell upon her; but as yet she does not report much improve- ment. — I myself am busy getting anchor lifted; decided to quit this scene of noise in about three days hence; but not yet very completely certain as to what mode of travel I shall adopt, or where my stages are to be. I feel a kind of call to get into green places for a few days, if possible into deep soli- tude and silence! I even think of getting a knapsack and stick and setting out for a few days of walking; I have a terrible reluctance to any active adventure whatever; but this perhaps really would compose me a little, — perhaps I ought to do it! In any case, I must land at Seaforth House, Liverpool, some way or other, not many days hence; over from which to Annan- dale and Nithsdale my course is not likely to be long delayed. * At Seaforth House, near Liverpool. See " New Letters and Memo- rials," i. 142. 186, etseq. Thomas Carlyle 23 The probablest way, after all, is that I shall stow myself like luggage, in the old fashion, into the Liverpool Railway, and so be bowled along: that is the shortest plan, but it has grown very disgusting to me. . . . One of the items of luggage I am bringing with me is an oil picture of myself for my Mother! It was drawn some years ago* by Laurence, and is really rather good, — infinitely better than common. It will need to be framed at Dumfries; and, I think, may be as well sent over to you from Liverpool direct. . . . Your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 169 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant ford, Canada. Dumfries, 2 September, 1846. My dear Alick — Before quitting Scotland, I will here, in a very confused element, among Jean's children on a Dumfries Wednesday,1[ write you a hurried word. I have been in this native region the better part of a month; left London about the end of July, and joined Jane in Lancashire whither she had gone a little while before me; abode there about two weeks; then came over to Scotsbrig, where I have been, off and on, ever since. Jane could not muster resolution to accompany or follow me; she has lingered to and fro in the regions of Liverpool or Manchester ever since; and is this very day, as I understand, travelling homewards by the railway, to arrive at Chelsea, and be (juiet again, to-night. She was not at all in a * July, 1838; see anlr, i,, p. 1:J2. t Market day. 24 New Letters of strong state when I left her; but I believe has improved since, the' to all appearance she is but weakly still Our good old Mother met me on the close at Scotsbrig with her welcome once again; and has yesterday again given me her silent farewell, — a very wae affair for both of us! It is inexpressibly sad to me, such a parting, after one of these confused visits; and I often think it would be better for me if I never came again! But that ought not to be either, while the opportunity is left. — Our good Mother is in her usual health, not specially complaining of anything; but now very feeble, easily struck down with any whifT of cold or the like. She walked out with me sometimes as far as the top of Middlebie Rig; was cheery and patient of heart, and anxious as ever about one and all of us. . . . Jack has come thus far with me; for I am going round by Ayr and Belfast (in Ireland) to vary the route a little; and do not yet expect to be home for about a fortnight. Jack, as you know, has been at Scotsbrig for several months; our Mother seems to be rather the better for him; and he does not yet see any way of being busy to better purpose than here. I wish we saw him settled somewhere, poor fellow. — Jenny * came down, to assist during my stay at Scotsbrig; I doubted we were too crowded about our poor Mother, and did her harm with our confusions; but she would not let us say it. Jenny is to stay yet a week; Jack sees me away here, and then returns. All are well and seemingly doing well here. The like at Gill, where we saw them yesterday; busy inning and mowing. All join in the kindest affection to you. Write immediately, if you * Mrs. Hanning, now living alone with her two daughters in Dum- fries, her husband having failed in business and gone to Canada. Thomas Carlyle 25 have not written by this Packet just arrived. Adieu dear Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 170 To Alexr. Carlyle, Brant ford, Canada^ Chelsea, 3rd Oct., 1846. My dear Brother — . . . I went along by Ayr two days after that Letter;* crossed from Renfrewshire to Belfast in Ireland; went down the Coast there so far as Dublin; and after a few days, crossing to Liverpool, got home again; heartily wearied, and glad to rest anywhere. Ireland did not rejoice me much. A sad country at present; bad husbandry; rags, noise and ineffectuality: from Belfast all the way to Dublin I hardly saw a dozen fields completely fenced. To a man on the Coach I remarked, "What is the use of fencing at all, if this is the way of it? Leave one gap in your field, it is quite the same, surely, as if you had not put a thorn in it at all!" — The Potatoes, as you know, are totally a ruin, this year, there and everywhere. Nothing but sheer famine and death by hunger for millions in Ireland, — had not the Government interfered, most wisely, and signified to the Landlords of the Country that they would have to assess themselves, to look out for work and wages to these poor wretches of peasants and see that they did not famish. This appears to me the most important Law ever passed for Ireland; the beginning, I do hope, of a new time for that wretched Land: I almost rejoiced at the black Potato fields, which had brought it about; and bade the Potatoes "Go about their business, there," since the loss of them was leading us a little towards justice and a better sort of food for * Of September 2nd, the preceding letter. 26 New Letters of men! . . . Indian corn, I suppose, must be the substitute; we arc trying to learn how to cook it so as to be palatable with frcsh-nieat, and shall succeed by antl by. Here at present it is selling at two-pence a powid, being a rarity as yet! — In Dublin I saw O'Connell haranguing his beggarly squad in "Conciliation Hall," too; perhaps the most disgusting sight to me on that side of the water. He is sinking, however, I think; that is another good symptom. At Liverpool, where my stay was brief, I made due inquiry about the Box for "Bield, near Brantford." It had actually sailed for Montreal, addressed to you as above: in no great length of time after this Letter reaches you, I hope you may have one from Montreal announcing that the Box has arrived there, and telling you when and how to look for it at Brantford. The carriage was to be all paid; I hope they will attend to that. In the Box itself there was nothing of much moment to you except as a memorial from us; Jane and I packed it ourselves (very full indeed) the day before I went across from Liverpool to Scotsbrig: a Pilot-coat, a Pilot-hat (very strange articles) for yourself and also for Tom; a Cloak for Jenny (and ditto for little Jane — hers was one of big Jane's); some Books, and other sundries: you will receive them with pleasure for the sake of the feeling they convey. Inside is a tin coffer with a lock, which I thought might be useful to you as a reposi- tory for papers, etc.: it is crammed with various articles; — and one (there, I believe) is a knife bought by Jane herself, which is a gift from her to you. All the women things were bought by her; Vjut this was with her own money, and destined as I say. There is notliing more that need be explained about the cargo, that I recollect of. . . . Thomas Carlyle 27 Dear Brother, I must now finish. We got your account of the puzzle you were in at harvest-time; and how nevertheless you succeeded in extricating yourself. Courage! I like the resolute patient manful temper you exhibit; there is more good in that than there can be evil in anything. Persevere, perse- vere; every day, if you keep your eyes open, will make you wiser. I delight much to think of you labouring away among your Bairns; seeing them grow around you in all ways. Tom will be a strong fellow now! Little Jane will teach us one day how to cook our Indian Meal for dinner. — Adieu, dear Brother, God's blessing on you all. T. Carlyle. LETTER 171 To Dr. Carlyle. Chelsea, 25 October, 1846. My dear Brother — The Bookseller's offer* turns out to be but a small matter! I had begun to dread in secret that it might result in some such issue: and here we see it. No money in it at all; that is the real meaning; for as to the "Second edition," etc., there is nothing but uncertain moonshine in that. I believe however, it is the real answer you will get from "the Trade" as to this enterprise which has hung before you so long: you have now the materials for deciding what you will do with it; and that is something to have. . . . I was at Sir Jas. Clark's,t dining, the other night; he had been so civil about Christie, etc., I could not refuse: the indi- * For Dr. Carlylc's Trannliif ion of the; Inferno of Dante. tThc eminent physician (1788-1870). 2S New Letters of gestion consequent thereon still hangs iibout me. He was very civil, asked about you and so forth; indeed I find him a very simple-hearted humane man, with far more inarticulate wisdom about him than any that comes out in the shape of speech. Forbes* was there too; Dr. Arnottand another; and the hero of the night was one Baron Stockmar, a shrivelled shrewd little German, once a kind of Doctor I believe, who resides at Co- burg, and hangs about Prince Albert and that clan, it would seem. We did well enough together; and I came home with my indigestion and the feeling of "duty done." — . . . We have to go off on Wednesday, to the Grange (Alrcsford, Hants, Lord Ashburton's) ; are to stay for a week: one of the joy fullest things would be my landing safe home again; that is my real humour at present on it! I will send my Mother a Letter from that place; a Parcel for her is already on the way towards Dumfries. Affection to her and to them all. Ever your T. Carlyle. LETTER 172 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 20 December, 1846. Dear Sister Jean — Your two pretty little wristikins f arrived safe last night; and the kind little Letter with them, which with its tone of sadness and almost of solemnity very much ♦Edward Forbes, naturalist, palseontologist, etc. Dr. Arnott is prob- ably Dr. Neil Arnott, inventor of the water-bed, the " Arnott Stove," " Arnott Ventilator," etc. t Small woollen cuffs. Thomas Carlyle 29 affected the poor Missus in her present weak state. She directs me to send you many kind thanks, till she be able to answer for herself. We have, as you surmise, been in a considerably ugly kind of puddle for some three weeks back; and are not yet entirely out of it, tho' coming out now, we hope. The Edinburgh Servant * proved an entire failure; one of the most useless, insolent, canting, unendurable pieces of human Dishonesty I have ever set eyes on : one of those unfortunate creatures whom the ''Penny Ladies" educate (Jane's Aunts had been very busy with this one) ; who get themselves all filled with abstruse evangelical doctrines, simpering courtesies, and such like hypo- critical shews, and are left totally ignorant that unless you can do your work in this world there is no hope for you here or elsewhere! The unfortunate slut could do no work at all, and would do none; Jane caught a bad cold ruiming after her, encouraging, trying to teach her (with but little hope, I think) ; was obliged to take to bed; on the third day after which, our courageous conscientious Help (on a Saturday night late, it was) fairly broke down; declared that she must be off to- morrow. She went accordingly: — you can fancy what a time we have had since; with Miss Welsh here as a guest; Jane still confined to her room (altogether till yesternight for a while at tea), and no servant here, but an old half-dunce, that was sud- denly surrendered to us, whom I call Slow-coach, and who also well deserves the name! — However Jane is now getting better; in hopes to be out again in the course of the week; Miss Welsh too will go (for tho' she is in the highest degree assiduous, and patient of all confusion, a stranger is no acquisition in such an ♦ "Pessima," see "New Letters and Memorials, " i. 219. .'(1 New Letters of emergency): after which we set regularly to gel a proper ser- vant, and shall hope to be all on our old footing again. . . . T, Carlyle. LETTER 173 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 25 March, 1847. My dear Sister — . . . Clouden Bank * is very tempting : nevertheless I believe we must not think of it at present. Many things are to be decided here; great practical riddles, such as arise in our life-pilgrimage, and are in fact our life: I must not fly away from the solution of them; but wait it out here, — and try, above all, to get it rightly out; that is the point. Scot- land looks now like a kind of "Chelsea Hospital" to me; whither I cannot well return except with my discharge in my pocket, and some wooden leg to show for myself! Poor old Scotland. — And yet perhaps if the railway were in action, why should not one come and live there {without being invalided), and make London still one's headquarters? We shall see by and by. London, with many drawbacks, has one advantage: it is the home of Freedom, for the like of me. In good truth, no king in all the earth is so royal as any poor thinking man can here be, with an independent heart in his body, and barely money in his pocket to pay his way. All manner of princes, dukes and drakes go by him like as many Phantasms; he, in his rusty coat, alone has meaning, — and is even alone felt to have. A king he, as I often say, and the only king: a king with one * A small property near Dumfries. Tliomas Carlyle 31 subject! * Upon the whole it is much more difficult to manage that, I believe, in any other place than it is in huge reeky London here: one must struggle to be content with reek, etc., in virtue of that. Poor old Mary Grier, I am heartily sorry for her new mis- chance! She certainly had little need of an addition to her complicated difficulties, of poverty, old age, and all the rest. Can anything be done for her? I suppose there could, and must; and yet by me, I know not what. I wish you would consider the whole matter, you and James, and suggest what possibility there is. In the meanwhile, if, as is likely, you see any possibility of helping her by a trifle of money, I bid you borrow a sovereign from James for me, and give it out to her as you find suitablest: — I will faithfully pay; and thank you, for being my almoner in this case, over and above. Do not neglect this. Alas, old age is itself a sufficient claim: and there are many other ills accumulated on that poor old body. Do not let her want for any help that I could justly undertake to give her; but warn me of it, call on me for it, you who are within sight. Your accounts of our good Mother are still favourable, tho' not quite unclouded: I shall want to hear instantly again; the sooner some of you can write, the better. I need not bid you be kind and gentle to her, good old Mother. In my solitude here (for I like far best, for most part, to be alone), she is often present to me: her life and my own, as it lies buried for us in * Carlylo murh admired that beautiful little poem, "The Character of a Happy Life," by Sir Henry Wotton, the last stanza of which is: " This man is freed from servile bands " Of hope to rive, or fear to fall; " Lord of himtelf. tho' not of lands; ** And having nolhing, yet hath all." 32 New Letters of the "Ilalls of the Past," often comes up before me, all trans- figured into spirit; and simple voices speak strange things to me out of the old dead years. "Every man's Life," says one of the Germans, "is a Bible, if he will read it," Which is most true. For the great God made us; and in marvellous ways goes with us, guiding us to the end. Amen, Amen! — Of all the blessings I have had in this world, surely the first, as I feel well, were the Father and Mother I was born of. No Duke- dom, or Princedom is worth rating beside that Corner-stone of all one's destinies in this world, and all one's works there, — the Parentage one had! Let us thank God in this evil time; and along with our afflictions joyfully accept what truly makes them all into blessings, if we are wise! — Here is a clipping from an American Newspaper, which Jane cuts out for you; not worth much, she thinks; but the carrying of it will cost nothing. It is a Yankee woman's doing (one Miss Fuller, a friend of Emerson's, whom we saw here, rather a good woman) : I remember I was somewhat loud upon her and upon certain crotchets of hers. — Emerson, I rather guess, is coming over next "Fall," on a Lecturing expedition; chiefly to Lan- cashire, etc., but to include London too: we had a Manchester Philosopher * last night here, who is arranging the matter for him. I like the man Emerson right well, and have reason to do so. To-night Thomas Erskine is coming to us to dine; Jack is to be here too and no other. . . . T. Carlyle. ♦ Alexander Ireland. Thomas Carlyle 33 LETTER 174 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Addiscombe, 7 May, 1847. Dear Jean — Having a few minutes to myself, during a day otherwise altogether devoted to idleness, I think I may as well write you a word or two: it will probably be the only good action appointed me till to-morrow or later! This is the country house of the Barings, kind people with whom we were in the winter: the Lady has been to Paris, seeing her Mother who was unwell there; she decided, after her return, to have a quiet week in the country here; and so got Jane out with her last Monday, I being appointed to follow when I liked and bring her home. I came accordingly on Wednesday afternoon, and to-morrow we are to return: a wholly idle time for all of us, — the like of which might make one regret! Mr. Baring the Husband goes and comes to Parliament, — went yesterday, for instance, and is expected to dinner to-day; — I myself smoke a good deal of tobacco, and go stalking about among the green fields and lanes, which with their fresh breezes do my heart good; the two Dames, in the meanwhile, daunnering"^ out and in among the flowerbeds mainly, driving out for what they call exercise once a day, and otherwise consuming the time: wholly an indolent affair, which I shall have had enough of to-morrow. —I tliink when one is not working, one ought not to be happy; one ought to be very unhappy, seeking out work. . . . They arc going to reprint my poor French Revo- * Sauntering. Vol, II.— 3 34 New Letters of lution this year:* the Miscellanies arc iih*eady reprinted (tho' not yet come out, owing to a trick of the Bookseller's): these poor Books of mine, in spite of all impediments, have become like a kind of landed property to me, and yield a certain rent more or less considerable, every year. Which is a good result of its kind. You can also tell James I have got an American Review of me, which seems worth sending to him : if I manage right, he will get it about the beginning of June. — . . . Dear Sister, you see my paper is just ending; and indeed I feel that I might cover immensities of paper, in the vague hurried mood I am in, without telling you almost anything. Besides, here is a flunkey with brushed clothes, hot water, and hint that it is time to "dress for dinner": — sorrow on it! Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 175 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 30th June, 1847. Dear Jean — There has just gone off for you a small Parcel of Books, — I should say for your care, as there are very few of them, and these very insignificant, that are for your behoof: it is, as usual, other people that are to profit by your position in the Carrier's Town. Some one or two, of very small size and moment, you will find inscribed to yourself or James; ditto to Jamie of Scotsbrig, either one or two ditto to Jenny: the essential body of the thing consists of two little Parcels, which you will find, addressed, one to a David Ferguson (a * The third English edition. Thomas Carlyle 35 poor little schoolinsister, an old schoolfellow of mine) at Annan; the other, still smaller, to Mrs. Johnstone of Grange (Water- beck): poor David Ferguson's Book is an American copy of my Cromwell, which I wished the poor body to get, and comfort himself by; Mrs. Johnstone's is an American copy of Heroes and Sartor, all in one volume, not worth much if it be not as a memorial of me from old days to that worthy Lady. These two parcels (of Jamie's and Jenny's I need not speak) you are desired to forward swiftly, securely, and to pay the carriage! I have inclosed two dozen Postage Stamps for that latter ob- ject; — and so ends this mighty commission. I fancy the Parcel will be with you in about a week. — They are printing the French Revolution here again, that is the only news I have on such subjects. The Miscellanies have been lying in print (3rd Edition in 4 volumes), these many months; but the Book- sellers, by a piece of jockeyship in the small way, have put me off a little: and indeed, it seems, "there never was such a year for Books as this, so utter a stagnation of all sale, for the last thirty years," — the money market being so dreadfully "tight!" Enough of all that. There came a Letter from Alick yesterday; which you will most likely see in a day or two, so soon as our Mother has done with it. All well in Alick's circle: a thing that amused me somewhat, was his blasting certain frightful old oak logs by gunpowder, and .so making thoni removable! Ho has bought his new forty acres, I know not whether wisely or not; and Jack and I have sent him off the money to pay for them. For his own sake still more than for our own, I hope poor Alick will be able, as he evidently purposes, to pay it back again by and by. 36 New Letters of Jack I found yesterday, on going to him about this matter, sitting in a linen coat, with bare neck, and in a slip- shod and rather raised *-looking condition; up to the chin among Dante Papers, which he is at last getting ready for a Book- seller, in hopes to be partially rid of them. That I think will be the chief advantage to him; but that, as matters go, will be considerable. Money, or other personal advantage, does not seem to lie in the enterprise. . . . Poor Doctor, I wish he were married (to a good wife); I wish at least he could get some fixed Residenee for himself! I know no man who would have profited more, had a strict commander been appointed over him, twenty years ago, and continued severely active ever since. — Probably, I guess, he will return to Annandale before long; and stay there, doing out his Dante. Our own movements lie utterly in the vague yet; never once turned over, or canvassed. I calculate loosely on a glimpse of Annandale and my dear old Mother again. . . . For the winter I sometimes even think of going over to Italy, Ger- many, etc., for a while. My "new Book" is as yet deep-buried; very deep under rubbish, dry and wet, wide as my existence, and too tedious to speak much of to you! I believe, however, there does, if I live, lie one other Book in me; — one knows not what lies in one; as my friend Oliver says, "we must serve our generation," do what is in us while Time lasts, "and then we shall get to rest." — The other day, I had an interview with a Royal Highness, no less, — a foreign Royal Highness. The Duke of Weimar is here on a visit to the Queen; — a young man he, the grandson of Goethe's Duke. His Grand Duchess's Secretary (a curious ♦ Excited Thomas Carlyle 37 little German Irish Scotchman*) brought a letter of introduc- tion to me: — some intimation by him that a visit from me would be kindly taken by this high Dame, in her wing of the Palace: intimation politely declined. Then an express offer from the Grand Duke to come hither; which of course could not be declined. Accordingly the young Royalty, at an appointed hour (4 p. M., a day or two ago) came driving up, "in an open carriage, with two puce-coloured flunkeys," a whiskered cham- berlain (Baron Something, a most awe-struck-looking man, "officially awe-struck"), and the little Scotch Irish Secretary. We managed altogether well, this young Royalty and I; bowed and complimented one another with both civility and sincerity; "glad to see the Grandson of Goethe's Friend and Protector"; showed him a Portrait f I had of this Elector "Frederick the Wise" (Luther's man at the Diet of Worms), which evidently pleased him much. "A bonny eagle-eyed lad," of some three- and-twenty; not at all without honest sense and faculty; straight as a rush; clear voice (something Scotch in the accent of him); and very much the gentleman, as one might expect. "Do not forget me," said lie; "Come and see us yonder!" and so went his way. . . . Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. ♦Mr. Marshall. t An engraving by Albert Diirer, presented to Carlyle by John Rus- kin. 38 New Letters of LETTER 176 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant jord, Canada. Chelsea, 3 July, 1847. My dear Brother — . . . We were delighted to hear, dear Brother, of your wholesome industries; of your planting apple- trees, and other solid labours. By all means, complete your orchard; it is a beautiful duty that of planting fruit-trees; and a blessed one, especially when you can hope your Children will pluck the fruit! And get the best trees you can; that will prove to be the real thrift at last. And train the children, each in its own little garden, to respect fruit-trees, honourable profit, industry, beauty and good-order: it is the summary of all Gos- pels to man! I have bought three fruit-trees and put them into this poor sooty patch of Garden; the old ones, the work of some good man 150 years ago, having died or needed to be torn out: one pear and one cherry, for this year, seem to be our promise of fruit-harvest; but some poor hungry Cockney in another generation may do better. — Jane and I, for our share, were hugely amused at your application of gunpowder to the immovable oak logs! An excellent invention indeed. "With a wimble you can sink the Physic into the very heart of them; and the most gnarled monster of a block will, with one roar, obey you, and go its ways, when the match-paper acts! I think they ought to make it general, that plan, in Canada woods. Only take care to be well out of range, when your shot goes ofT! This really is to be attended to; and I should be most afraid of you in that respect. Thomas Carlyle 39 Your purchase of the forty acres was partly expected by us here. We cannot judge of the wisdom of it: but, as you did it with all your sagacity summoned to the enquiry, we cannot but hope it will do well. Nothing in the world seems more cer- tain than that all Canada, and that Bield in particular, will and must increase yearly in value: whoever can stick to his place there, like a patient, valiant man, he mfallibly will find his place fruitful for him. May Bield and this new purchase, be blessed to our Brother and our Brother's heirs! — The instant your Letter came. Jack and I despatched the due order for eight hundred Dollars to Adamson at Dumfries; with in- junction to be swift, that he might save the Post-steamer (of to-day). ... They are printing my French Revolution the third time, which brings me a little money. Of late years I get regularly a kind of rent from these poor Books of mine; some £200 or £300 a-year of late; which is almost affecting to me, for the "estate" lay long quite barren, and would pay nothing, not so much as a Canada bit of Forest. Courage always! There are great fears entertained about the Potatoes this year; which I hope will be realized! Fever rages in Ireland, now that the famine has somewhat ceased: it is better to go through the horrible quagmire than to turn back into it. — Adieu, dear Alick: wo send you our best Blessings, one and all of us, to you and yours. Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. 40 New Letters of LETTER 177 To Dr. Carlyle, London. Matlock Bath, 8 August, 1847. My dear Brother — We [Wife and I] got along very happily on Friday, all the way, having nothing to complain of from men or machines or heavenly elements; about half-past three or four we were safe in Derby, worrying down a most hasty slice of roast-mutton and tough bread; after which a rapid whirl of some half-hour, or not much more, put us down at Amber- gate (where we saw your friends the Limekilns with windowed chimneys to them); and then a heavy-laden omnibus took us upon its back or into its belly, and in about an hour and a half more, put us down at one of the Hotels, in this thrice and four- times world-celebrated Village of Matlock Bath. . . . We left our trunks, etc., under care of the Hotel Boots, and proceeded straight in search of " private lodgings." . , . Our accommodation is two upper rooms, or rather cells, to sleep in, and a first-floor room or cell to sit in; most infirm rustic apartments, but done up with a certain "elegance of poverty" that rather attracted us: rent including extras, 30/- per week! The poor people have a skill in charging rent, while their brief hour is! For a guinea we could have had prettier and larger rooms, but with less appearance of quiet, and with Landlordage of less promising physiognomy; and nowhere with so fine a view from the windows, — in that latter respect we stand un- rivalled. As to household necessaries, Jane says they are a shade dearer than in London, and all procurable of moderate Thomas Carlyle 41 quality. For a week we shall do tolerably well here; a kind of sleep-week, in which we are to forget all the world, and be for- gotten by it, — ^not so much as a Letter possible here till Friday morning; and every day a day in which one can walk or sleep, and smoke or read or dream and dawdle at one's own sweet will. — I have had this morning a considerable walk before break- fast, down to Cromford, past Arkwright's place and his two Mills; one of them, the Cromford one if I mistake not, the first erected Mill in England, and consequently the Mother of all Mills. Near by it is Willersley "Castle" so-called: a solid sumptuous-looking free-stone Castle built by Arkwright, and now tenanted by his Grandson. The Mother of all Mills, I was sorry to hear, had lost most of its water, by new Mine-drainings in late years; and was very nearly fallen silent now, likely soon to go out altogether. I clomb also to the top of fine breezy hills, by narrow stony paths; but had to make haste home again, and found Jane walking on "Temple Terrace" here, waiting ray return for breakfast. I will not trouble you with much description; . . . Our Village again stands altogether on the eastern side of the river; stands, or rather hangs; for you never, in this country, saw human houses so situated; all stuck along the steep, con- nected by zigzag paths, shrouded in wood, overlooked they too, by bare cliffs; — at night with their lit windows you might think them Caves of the Troglodytes, by day they are as Bird-cages, each hung by its nail on the green wall. The only platforms of any extent (and they not of much) arc occupied by the Hotels, three in number; — and a small patch of Street, for one little while, attaches itself to the carriage road, which runs close by the river, hevm out in many parts, — very far helmo 42 New Letter,'^ of where I now write. Such is Matlock Bath; a place for loung- ing; and for bathing in these luhe-vinvm. Springs (properly Tanks, when you use them), not warmer I think than about 60° Fahrenheit; pale-greenish in colour, mawkish-insipid in taste, pleasant enough to swim in, — and according to my guess, probably not worth two-pence for any complaint in the Nosol- ogy, except as the imagination may be solaced by them a little. Ohe, jam satis est! . . . Adieu dear Brother. Jane salutes you. Yours ever, T. Carlyle. LETTER 178 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfriesl Rawdon, near Leeds, 17 August, 1847. Dear Jean — . . . Jane, I think, wrote to you from Mat- lock, how we were minded to have a look at the Peak Country of Derbyshire, and expected the Mr. Forster* of this place to join us in the expedition. Forster appeared duly on the Friday morning last; a most cheerful, honest, affectionate long-legged young man, of really sociable, intelligent and every way polite and agreeable habits; — whom I, glad to escape the task myself, instantly constituted Captain of the expedition: so he settled all bills and waiters and etceteras, engaged all carriages, and managed, so far as might be, the whole business; leaving me to my own reflexions, and my own tobacco ; which was a mighty benefit indeed. The weather too, had suddenly dried up; and * W. E. Forster, who became Member of Parliament, Under-Secre- tary for the Colonies, Chief-Secretary for Ireland, etc. He died in Lon- don, 5 April, 1886. Thomas Carlyle 43 it kept dry and excellent just till we had done, and then began to rain again, which it has last night been vigorously doing: so that in all respects we were favourably circumstanced for our little expedition. On Friday we went to a place called Dovedale, a little rocky valley on the River Dove, — infinitely celebrated by Tourists; — which we looked at, without much criticism, and not without a certain degree of pleasure, especially as the drive thither and back was all along thro' beautiful green hollows and airy lime- stone heights, with their queer clean old grey villages (all trimmed and cleaned to perfection), their solitary mine-heaps (of lead rubbish), sawmills (of Derbyshire stone), huge quarry- chasms, etc., etc. We got back again safe by nine o'clock to tea at Matlock (it is some 12 or 14 miles off) ; and next morning we quitted Matlock for good, — towards Buxton, which is an- other nmch more frequented watering-place, about 22 miles nearer you. Of Buxton I will tell you various things when we meet: it is a place all elegantly "for the occasion got up"; seemed likely to be wholesome, lying high up among bare green hills; — and must, I thought, be the chosen home of Donothing Wearisomeness for all the Northern Counties. We dined at their "public table," "saw the manners" (as Tommy John- stone says) ; and came away heartily glad that we had seen it all, and needed not, without other errand, go again to see it. A most elegant, and I should imagine, most inexpressibly weari- some place! — Our next stage was to Tideswell (9 miles N. W. from Buxton), where I hoped to have found in the Birth- Register of the Parish the entry of "James Brindley in 171G" (the enormous Engineer Brindley, who made all the Canal- business in last century) ; but, after search, it was not there. 44 AV?f) Letters of I am to write, and try clscwhcro. — From Tideswcll, north seven miles, is Castleton, a beautiful secluded old Village (1,000 years old or more) in the deep lap of the mountains; and close by is the most enormous Cavern in the world, called Peak Cavern now, but formerly the "Devil's i' Peak." A huge cave, runs S60 yards sloping down into the bowels of the mountain, has running waters, pools that you go over in a boat; now narrow- vaulted like a timnel, then expanding into great expanses like cathedrals (some 700 and odd yards below ground): really a curious place this Devil's i' Peak, and seen without difficulty for a little money. Some rope-spinners have set up their wheels under the high-vaulted entrance, and spin there rent-free, — one of whom, an eminent Methodist, we heard preach in the Chapel afterwards; or rather praying it was, and very character- istic of its kind. But in fine, dear Jean, to make my long tale short, know that we quitted Castleton and Derbyshire yesterday morning; came spieling* in our own hired "clatch" (a kind of Double Gig, such as the place yielded) over the hills to Sheffield and Yorkshire; drove rapidly thro' Sheffield and its sooty flaming mills, and screeching Cutleries, to the railway station; and, just catching our train, were duly whirled away to Leeds (some 40 miles), and then with 7 miles more, in a "neat fly," were safely lodged here, about dusk, on our hospitable Hilltop far enough from all the smoke, in one of the most hospitable, pleasant and quiet mansions, I think, within the Four Seas. I have not slept in so utterly still a place these many years. Forster is off after breakfast to his business (Mill, Warehouse, etc.) at Brad- ford some 5 miles distant; and here Jane and I are left sover- ♦ Spieling, spinning along at a lively pace. Spiel also naeans climb. Thomas Carlyle 45 eigns of the Mansion, vnth nothing in it but a quiet old Quaker Dame of a housekeeper, and some maids, etc., who seem all to be shod in felt, so still and noiseless are they, and look as clean as if they had just come out of Spring Wells. Really an excellent old House: it has belonged to some Laird in old days when Lairds still were; and Forster has thoroughly repaired and modernized it; and retires to this distance every afternoon, to be away from Bradford and its noise and reek, and sit silent or converse with quiet friends here. That is the end of our pilgrimage for the present; which surely has done very well hitherto. . . . Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. You can send my Mother the Nation too, — but not till James has quite done with it. LETTER 179 To His Mother, Scotshrig. Rawdon, 29 August, 1847. My dear Mother — Yesterday I sent a Newspaper, which would indicate to you that we are still here and well. Jenny's Letter came duly, with the welcome tidings, which we hope still holds good, that you were in your usual way again. We are very quiet here; in a green wholesome country, among good friendly people who seem to enjoy our stay: we nmst not now linger very long; but are, were it only from natural laziness, somewhat averse to pack and take the road again! . . . You would read about that frightful murder in Parib?* It cxcells in atrocity and infernal quality all that we * •f tbe Duclies-so dv. Prasliu. 46 New Letters of have hoard of for a long whilo. France, especially in the upper classes of it, is said by everybody to be in a shocking state of unprincipled depravity; and new commotions are expected in it very confidently when once Louis Philippe has ended his cunning work in this world. The Lady was in London some years ago, when her Father was Ambassador, and many per- sons knew her there. Wc have been very quiet and quite stationary here; except that last week I rode away some 20 miles to see a Mr. Milnes* (with whom you remember I once made a visit, several years ago, in these parts): Milnes met me on the road (Jane would not go with me, preferring repose) : I had a pleasant afternoon and night among the Milnes people; came home next day; and then the next, Milnes came up hither, and staid all night with us: — it would have been extremely pleasant, and indeed was so; only I lost a good deal of sleep, and got, as I usually do in such cases, a decided indigestion, with headache, etc., by the job! "Quietness is best," — decidedly it is. . . . "What day wilt thou come, then?" that is the question! Dear Mother, I do not yet know; but it will not be long; — and, in fact, if I could get smuggled away, and carried off in my sleej), I believe I should vote for its being very soon; this night perhaps! Jane, as I said, decides to turn South again, when I go off : this also rather detains me, for she seems to get on well here, and to have improved considerably since we left home. . . . Adieu, dear Mother, Ever your Son Tom. ♦ The late Lord Houghton. Thomas Carlyle 47 LETTER 180 To Alexander Carlyle, Br ant ford, Canada'. Rawdon, 3rd September, 1847. My dear Brother — . . . Jane seemed considerably worn out with the heats of London, and I considered it would do her good to get into the silence of the fields for a while. As it accordingly has proved; for I find her much amended at pres- ent, and indeed fully in her average state of health. We have had beautiful weather, and no evil accident at all has befallen us. It was from the first settled that I was to go on to Annan- dale; Jane too was eagerly invited, and at one time seemed to have thoughts of it; but she cannot yet resolve to revisit Scotland after her great losses there: so she turns homewards for Chelsea again, on the day when I set off for Manchester and Annandale. That is to be the day after to-morrow, as we at present calculate; which in part accounts for my hurry at present. Early next week, probably on Monday (it may even be this week and on Saturday, if I find nobody that I like in Manchester), I expect to be in poor old Annandale again, and to see our dear old Mother once more. It is a sight for which one ought to thank Heaven, surely with one's whole soul: and yet to me it is always full of sorrow; and when the time comes to part again, it quite tears me to pieces for the moment, so that I could almost repent ever having come. surely there is some kind of higher reunion appointed for poor wretches who have honestly loved one another here, and yet could never much help one another, but had all to admit many times that •IS New Letters of their hearts were sore, and could only share their sorrows to- gether! God made us all; God will provide what is good for us all, what is best for us all. — But I may well change this strain. We got your Letter here just three days ago: ... I sent it to Jack, with charge to forward it from Chelsea; the small scraping of an answer, w^hich he has sent in return, I also enclose here. He agrees with me in regret that you have not got the bit of land after all! There was of course no help; land with a doubtful title, paid for by very indubitable money, would never have done. ... As to the money. Jack agrees with me that there is no hurry at all about returning it hither; that if you can get it well invested (I mean sajehj first, all things are subordinate to that), it may lie there, bearing its bit of interest, till we see. As to lemitting it in corn or flour, that, as Jack says, will be a terribly unsafe operation just now! Our corn- merchants, who have flourished like the green bay- tree during last year of dearth, are now falling like the leaves in Novem- ber: never such a time of "corn failures," — amounting already to five millions of bankruptcy, some say! We have an ex- cellent harvest here, all over Europe indeed, and are getting it some weeks earlier than was at one time expected. Do not invest money in com therefore. Put it by as we said, in some safe place; and let us wait till we see. . . . Your affectionate T. Carlyle. Thomas Carlyle 49 LETTER 181 To Alexander Carlyle, Brantford, Canada. Scotsbrig, 2 October, 1847. My dear Brother — . . . Our dear old Mother is very well here; considering her age, fully as well as I could expect to see her. Her hand shakes a little worse than when you saw her; otherwise there is little perceptible change. She is much delighted to learn of your welfare, to see that you are "getting more content in your new place," as she expresses it: and, I think, of all the news you have ever sent, there is none that gratifies her more than this of the "Secession-Church Minister" whom you are about getting. Good old Mother! She is even now sitting at my back, trying at another table to write you a small word with her own hand; the first time she has tried such a thing for a year past. It is Saturday night, after dark; we are in the East Room, in a hard dry evening, with a bright fire to ourselves two; Jenny and her Bairns are "scouring up things" in the other end of the house; and below stairs the winter operations of the farm go on, in a subdued tone: you can conceive the scene! — Jamie has got all his crops in, and in- deed the harvest is quite over, a fortnight ago, on all hands of us; . . . Wo have got a new railway here, actually running from Boattock to Carlisle, for some weeks past, heard squealing by all of us many times a day, visible from Mother's end window about the Broadlca and partially from Kirtlcbrig all the way to near Land. . . . Dear Brother, I certainly think you will be very wise to Vol. II.— 4 50 New Letters of get that frame ham you speak of: it must be an almost indis- pensable convenience, if you do not thatch your stacks. Make an effort for it; and if you cannot manage it, take some of that money * to help you. — . . Ever yours, T. Oarlyle. LETTER 182 To Alexr. Ireland, Manchester! Chelsea, 15 Octr., 1847. My dear Sir — By a Letter I had lately from Emerson, — which had lain, lost and never missed, for above a month in the treacherous Post-office of Buxton, where it was called for, and denied, — I learn that Emerson intended to sail for this country "about the first of October"; and infer therefore that probably even now he is near Liverpool or some other of our Ports. Treadmill, or other as emphatic admonition, to that scandalous Postmaster of Buxton! He has put me in extreme risk of doing one of the most unfriendly and every way unpar- donable-looking things a man could do! Not knowing in the least to what Port Emerson is tending, where he is expected, or what his first engagements are, I find no way of making my word audible to him in time ; except that of entrusting it, with solemn charges to you, — as here. Pray do me the favour to contrive in some sure way that Emerson may get hold of that Note f the instant he lands in England. I shall be permanently grieved otherwise; shall have failed in a clear dut}' (were it nothing more), which will never probably * See ante, p. 35. t Printed in Carlyle-Emerson Correspondence as Letter CXI. Tliomas Carlyle 51 in my life offer itself again. Do not neglect I beg very much of you. And, on the whole, if you can, get Emerson put safe into the Express Train, and shot up hither, as the first road he goes! That is the result we aim at. But the Note itself, at all events; I pray you get that delivered duly, and so do me a very great favour for which I depend on you. It is only two days since I got home, — through Keswick and the Lake Country; — nor has my head yet fairly settled from the whirl of so many objects, and such rapid whirls of locomotion outward and inward, as the late weeks have ex- posed me to. To-day therefore I restrict myself to the indis- pensable, and will add nothing more. Kind regards to Ballantyno and Espinasse.— Hope your School Society prospers? Glad shall I be to learn that your Scheme, or any rational or even semi-rational Scheme for that most urgently needful object, promises to take effect among those dusky populations! Of your Program, as probably I mentioned, there remaias with me no copy now. Yours very truly, T. Carlyle, LETTER 183 To John Forsler, Lincoln's Inn Fields. Chelsea, 18 November, 1847. Dear Forstcr — . . . The essential objection [to For- ster's Life of (Joldsmilh, which Carlyle praises highly], I fancy is, that you had not a better hero than poor Goldy; that you had not a higher virtue than good-nature, good-humour, and a certain Irish "keep never minding," to celebrate and deify! 52 New Letters of Certainly poor Goldy is but a weak wire to string his century upon, — poor fellow, his contribution to it, that of painting one or two small Pictures de genre in a happy manner, which still hang pleasantly on our walls, was essentially not a great one. He built nothing, pulled down nothing; changed nothing in any way for the better; merely painted his dainty little tableaux de genre, under thriftless, imprudent insolvent circumstances; and generously left them to us, and went his unknown way. Poor Goldy — and yet you may say justly, what help? I could get no hetter hero in that century; no other that would suit my pur- pose! True enough, the blame is not essentially yours; — and it is beautiful withal to see, as you show us, how one of Nature's own Gentlemen may live, and do some kind of work that is worthy of him, under the husk of a poor ragged Irish slave (for such poor Goldy was) ; which also is a kind of Gospel! All this is " true for you '': and yet I say, mind the 'per contra of it too, which is here urged; and take care of your Fourth and con- cluding Part; — and get done with it, and send me a copy! More power to your elbow! T. Carlyle. LETTER 184 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries'. Chelsea, 1 December, 1847. Dear Sister — . . . There is just coming out a new Edition of the French Revolution too; but I think you are all supplied with that. This contains nothing new except an Index, and I suppose it is better printed than any of the others. I have a eopy or two to dispose of, if anybody specially requires Thomas Carlyle 53 them, but I keep them lying here, as there is no hurry. — ^The slow Bookseller has never yet called to pay me for these two Books; but he will have to do it, for all the "pressure" of the money-market he complains of! There is also to be an Edition of poor Sartor again, before long. It seems very strange, and is indeed almost pathetic to me, that these poor bits of Books should still be read, and now yield some "meat, clothes and fire" to me: but so it is, and I ought to be silent and thankful. They were written in sore tribulation; the children, as it were, of mere sorrow and tears: but it is best if one can get one's weeping over, if one has to weep, at the beginning than at the end of the account! . . . We are tolerably well in health here; Jane herself, tho' a day of frost incommodes her, has a good average of health; but her spirits are none of the best, in the dark months es- pecially. I sit secluded up here, among Books and Papers, all forenoon; keep for most part very solitary, and try to advance towards something worthy — at lowest, contrive generally to "consume my own smoke," which is something! — In this Num- ber of Eraser's Magazine is a small Paper* of mine with some Letters of Cromwell; which you will rather like to read. My Mother has a copy (of the Article by itself), if you see it nowhere clSc* • • • God bless you, dear Jean, you and yours. Affectionately always, T. Carlyle. * Squire Paprrs. For a vnry interesting article on this subject, by Prof. W. Aldis Wright, sec "The English Historical Review," No. 2, April, 188G. 54 New Letters of LETTER 185 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 25 December, 1847. My Dear Jean — . . . We are in fair health here; won- derful, considering the general average. Jane is a little shivery when the cold winds begin; but she never fairly gives in, and indeed, I think, is in fair case. We are all, we London people, in the very heart of Christmas goose-eating; you in Scotland never dreamt of such a time as the London Christmas is: huge walls of slain sheep and beeves; all railroads groaning with fat turkeys, capons, hares; the whole world intent seemingly on one thing, that of being filled with excellent victual and liquor. With all which, however, there are two "London people," a dyspeptic two, that do not in the least concern themselves; these two are to dine, this Christmas day, upon I know not what, — perhaps nothing, except some small pudding of ground- rice or the like! The dark weather and the turn of the year make me always serionf^, if nothing else would; and I never could rejoice very heartily at Newyearsday, not when I was much younger and merrier than now. — ^We have got to decide, in these days about going down into Hampshire again, where the people want a new visit from us. Grand enough people, and very kind, both the elder Ashburton Lordship and the younger; they want us "from the 7th of January to the 15th of February," — which, in so idle an element, seems much too long a time. Nay, there is one of us that would almost as soon be off altogether, — so perverse is the matter with its fashionable Thomas Carlyle 55 idlenesses, its etc., etc.! But I suppose we shall have to go, for a shorter or a longer time: kind souls, of any rank, especially of that rank, ought to have their kindness recognised, by the like of us.* No work is yet lying disengaged on the stithy, with a hammer in one's hand freely smiting at it! Work, I do imagine, goes on; but, alas, I think it may be a long while yet before much of it get fairly to the stithy, — for the nature of it is a little abstruse. Nothing hurries me from without; nothing. I have grown absolutely to care not one penny about all the ''fame," etc., etc., that such a generation as the present could give me or withhold from me, — indeed, from any generation of Adam's Posterity, it seems a mighty small matter to me; — and for the rest, I have money to bu}'' meal and broadcloth with; and I do not know what else particularly " the world" has in it that could be superlatively useful to me! Really one feels, with one's head grey, and one's heart long tempered in the Stygian waters, very independent indeed; and quite as a kind of secret emperor among these beggarly populations, all hunting like ravens, all hungry as ravens, tho' with heaps of ill-smelling carrion already piled round them! — So let us be quiet; — let us be pious-minded, and listen to the Silences, to the "small still Voices," ourselves silent. — I know not if you read that Paper in Eraser; or have heard that there is a kind of audible bustle about it, in the Athenaum and other such barren regions here; many long-eared persons insinuating, or saying openly, that I have been hoaxed in the matter. To all v/hich I answer, nothing: — only, if it go too far, ♦ Mrs. Carlyle fell ill and was unable to go to Bay House, on this occasion. 56 New Letters of I think of sonding my "unknown Corrcspondont" * in pennon up to the poople (who is a terrible tower of a fellow, true as hcart- of-oak. and half-mad); he, stamping a huge cudgel on the floor, might chance to settle the "hoax "-argument in a very sudden and unexpected manner! — . . . LETTER 186 To His Mother, Scotshrig. Chelsea, Saturday, 26 February, 1848. My dear Mother — . . . To-day I have a pretty gouster of Southwest wind and rain going on against my windows here, which it hits very fair, and with a sound really musical to me, there being snug fire, and no smoke but that of tobacco, in che inside of the glass for me! — Such weather is not the best for invalids; nevertheless we are getting or got well; Jane herself evidently improving, and able now to venture out for a short walk whenever the sun shines kindly. She otherwise alto- gether keeps the house. I for my own share am in my usual way again, — and indeed, for one thing, have been sleeping a good deal more during the last month than is usual with me. Jack, a busy man, and very cheerful, is in fine health, so far as we see or understand. He was here last night, — full of talk about the French riots and what not. A strange business that of the French and their riots just now! To-day I send you another Times, which carries the business a bit further; nay, yesterday there arrived a telegraphic express here, which is doubtless at Dumfries too by this time, That Louis Philippe * Squire who supplied Carlyle with copies of the Cromwell Letters. See ante, p. 53, n. Thomas Carlyle 57 was deposed, and his little infant grandson ("Comte of Paris" so-called) appointed "King" in his stead, with a body of the hottest Radicals and Republicans for "Ministry" round him; — and in brief that Louis Philippe and his Queen, etc., etc., were fairly on their travels, and had quitted Paris for good! This was the news last night ; which of course will make a great noise, whatever quarter of the world it reaches. Poor old Louis Philippe ! An old man now, and has not learned to be an honest man; — he leams, or may learn, that the cunningest knavery will not serve one's turn either. I begin to be really sorry for him, poor old scoundrel; he has had much sorrow, toil and tribula- tion, all the way, these 74 years, as he came along hither; and possesses, as it were, nothing at all at this time except physical food and clothes. — Guizot, his minister, is much more despicable: a poor honourable Writer and teacher of the Public at one time ; him, for a mess of pottage, they seduced from his honourable garret, and converted into a rich conspicuous Public Quack, — and now his light is quite snuffed out, and even his life (I fancy) is exposed to risk. His Father died by the guillotine, an honest Protestant man; his old Mother (whom Thomas Erskine, etc., used to know), I hope is dead too, — for this sight would be too hard for her! — Of late days I have begun to scribble a little, — or rather to try if I can scribble, and convince myself that I cannot! For that is about the whole length it has got to yet. No man ever found his Mnd more entirely out than I now do; — which is very sorrowful; but only to be mended by holding on. — My dear Mother, take care of yourself in this wild time! I hope Jenny keeps you very quiet, and tries (as I know she will) to screen you well from all disturbance. Do you get right sleep? Too 68 New Letters of much walking, or too much talking either, will do you no good.— Let somebody write to us very soon again; from us you shall hear directly. All blessings on you all. T. Carlyle. LETTER 187 To Mrs. Aiiken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 26 March, 1848. Dear Jean — . . . Here is a Bank Cheque for £10, for which James will get payment: deducting his own account £1 9 0, there remains £8 11 0, which I commission him to hand to my Mother, to "help to buy the Gig," or do what she likes with. . . . I have got a Times now, too, for myself; the world's history is getting into such a galloj) everywhere, one can hardly keep pace with it. Jack and I have also got a French Newspaper (Le National) between us, daily; but that, I rather think, will have to be renounced, as more than I can get read. I am also thinking seriously of some kind of Book, — poor wretch! — but the times with me too are not without their difficulties! — On Thursday I had again an eight-o'-clock dinner to execute at the Barings', on occasion of Emerson, — or rather Emerson was but the excuse of it, for he kept very quiet; mild modest eyes, lips sealed together like a pair of pincers, and nobody minded him much: we had quantities of Lords, Townwits (Thackeray, etc.), beautiful Ladies; — and I, as usual, got a most sick head and heart by it: not likely to recover for two days yet. One of the Ladies there, a beauty declared. Lady Castlereagh whom I had seen once before, — sends down a flunkey Thomas Carlyle 59 yesternight to ask me to another such ploy to her own mansion : Oh Heavens, no ! I answered ; there is nothing but mischief, and indigestion with headaches, in all that for me ! . . . LETTER 188 To Johi Forster, Lincoln's Inn Fields. Chelsea, Wednesday [Spring, 1848]. Dear Forster— . . . Fronde's Book [Nemesis of Faith] is not, — except for wretched people, strangling in white neck- cloth, and Sem.itic thrums, — worth its paper and ink. What on earth is the use of a wretched mortal's vomiting up all his interior crudities, dubitations, and spiritual, agonising belly- aches, into the view of the public, and howling tragically, " See! " Let him in the Devil's name, pass them, by the down- ward or other method, . . . and say nothing whatever! Epictetus's sheep intending at least to grow good wool, was a gentleman in comparison. . . . LETTER 189 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant ford, Canada. Chelsea, IG June, 1848. My dear Brother — . . . We arc in our usual poorish way of health here, which docs not grow very brilliant in spite of the good weather: however, we still stir about in a grumbling way, and even Jane is pretty well on foot at present. Jack sticks obstinately to his task and it proves very dreich [tedious] to get done: but I believe it will be really ivell done at last, and 60 New Letters of prove a useful thing. — I myself am beginning to write again, — for the wild rcvolutionar\' times urge me on; — but I do not get mueh under way yet; and indeed am much at a loss what form to throw the thing into: but I must bore along, "stogging" and "blinking" (as you once defined Corson's ploughing); and nothing but persistence will find me out the right method. I once thought of writing a long set of Articles for Newspapers, of which two samples I think were sent to you of late; but the thing does not weW take that shape; and in fact I know not ^vhat to do with it, but shall gradually know. I suppose you hear enough about our Chartists; and how the French, and indeed all Nations, are puddling deep in the quagmire of Revolution and social distress: the Chartists do us next to no mischief here as yet (to us here at Chelsea, none at all) ; but the look of that concern is very ominous too, and I be- lieve there are great miseries and confusions at no great dis- tance for Britain generally, and bad days are coming, and must come before many years go! We cannot help it; I cannot: — nor do I see any hope of real remedy till long after our poor fight will have altogether ended, and that of our sons and grandsons perhaps too! — Much terrible distress prevails just now in the manufacturing regions; and the Irish people have got again into a large potato-crop this year, with which, if it fail, they will be in a bad way! — On the whole, I cannot but think you lucky, dear Brother, in spite of all your trials and sorrows, that you have got your family into a hopefuller land than this, and have a piece of soil of your own to till, and little else but Heaven to be respoasible to. God keep you in His ways always, and so all will be well! — A Captain Sterling here (John's Brother, the writer's whom TJiomas Carlyle 61 you know of) gave us a large map of Upper Canada, which he made while soldiering there. Here is the reduced copy of a scrap of it round Brantford ; I want you to put down the exact situation of Bield, and send it back to me that we may know.— If ever there come anj^body that could take a Sketch of the House, etc. — But that alas, is not at all likely. . . , Your ever affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 190 To the Rev. Alexander Scott , Regenfs Park, London. Chelsea, 5th August, 1848. Dear Scott — A practical, humane, and very intelligent Country Gentleman, a Mr. Spedding * of the Cumberland region, transmits me the enclosed excerpt from the Times,-\ with eager desire to have some farther light in regard to it, — some account of the success of the project there indicated. The principal question would be. Do the Ouvriers actually earn their franc and half daily, under these conditions, or are they merely paid so much daily, and made very miserable in the process? If the foiTOcr should turn out to be the answer, it would be a great fact for Spedding, and for me, who am continually preaching that method of proceeding with our own Paupers, as the real point * Thomas, the elder brother of James Spedding. t " Letters from Orleans of the 20th state that several thousands of the operatives employed in the national workshops of Paris have been sent into La Saloync, where they can be employed advantageously in reclaiming the waHte lands in that district. It is believed that 50,000 men can earn one franc fifty centimes (1/3) daily, and add considerably to the wealth of the nation. A severe military discipline has been es- tablished among those men by the Government Engineers under whose direction they are placed." 62 New Letters of at which to begin the "Organization of Labour" hero at home. I should like very well to know. As there is nobody in France of whom I could conveniently ask the question, and I am somewhat at a loss how to proceed, it strikes nie that there is perhaps possibility of getting an answer through some of your Parisian connexions, which are of a more recent date than mine. I beg you to make inquiry if you can, and let me know the result. If you cannot, the question must lie in abeyance for the present. . . . Yours, ever truly, T. Carlyle. If you see M. Chopin,* pray offer him my hearty regards. I hope we shall get some language to speak in by and by, and then get into more plentiful communication. An excellent, gentle, much-suffering human soul, as I can at once see with- out language. LETTER 191 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 14 August, 1848. Dear Brother — . . . What you said of the poor bodies "wheeling their coals" at Ecclefechan was sad enough to me; hopeful however, that the error, as would appear, is still re- mediable! Certainly I will subscribe to help the poor bodies, put down your name and my own for whatever sum you find to be suitable, the same for each. And here you perceive, is a most handjai^t statement of the case, drawn up by me to-day; ♦ Fr6d6ric Chopin, the well-known composer and pianist. He suf- fered long from consumption, and died in Oct., 1849. Thomas Carlyle 63 which I hope may do some good when presented! You can read it as it passes; — it will only cost a day's detention, and one penny stamp: — if there be any error committed by me of suf- ficient importance, I wish you would yourself take some oppor- tunity (straightway) of rectifying it with C. Stewart himself; but I do not think there is. . . . Yours ever, T. Garlyle. LETTER 192 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 26 Aug., 1848. My dear Brother — . . . Laurence did not succeed with my portrait; after four laborious sittings, he yesterday decided to abandon it, and to resume another (laid by formerly) which another sitting now will rid me of! Poor Laurence works terribly; but a vein of ineffectuality, a trying to do the impos- sible, is apt to run through his enterprises. For the rest, these sittings do me little or no mischief at present; he lets me even smoke while he paints; I have a good walk to and from, and my day otherwise, I am sorry to say, is still very much of an idle one. In fact, I still sit upon the brink here, and feel loth and uncertain about plunging in. Things, one may hope, will ripen with me; alas, I feel I shall have to be miserable again before they do! For the present, I sit in the utmost attainable silence; alone with my own thoughts and remembrances great part of every day, and certainly in as secluded a scene as the Autumn could well offer mc anywhere. Till after that visit to the Grange, which is to begin about the 1st of September (day 64 New Letters of not yet. fixed), I feel there will nothing be done, but at best a little rending. The weather too, continues moist and cool; far from unpleasant to me, if it were not so unpromising to others. — Little Jeannie * enjoys herself very well here, and seems to be as cheery a little creature as ever, able to do well and employ herself on nothing here as well as elsewhere. On Thursday last Forster f gave us {her at least) an inval- uable treat: an opera box namely, to hear Jenny Lind sing farewell. Illustrious indeed. We dined with Fuz f at five, the hospitablest of men; at eight, found the Temple of the Muses all a-shine for Lind and Co., — the piece, La Somnamhula, a chosen bit of nonsense from beginning to end, — and, I suppose, an audience of some three thousand expensive-looking fools male and female come to see this Swedish Nightingale " hop the twig," as I phrased it. Nothing could exceed my ennui; especially as we staid till the very finish, little Jeannie being quite de- lighted. Lind seemed to me a very true, clear, genuine little creature, with a voice of extraordinary extent and little richness of tone; who sang, acted, etc., with consummate fidelity, — but had unfortimately nothing but mere ?ion-sense to sing or act; a defect not much felt by the audience, as would appear, but very heavily pressing upon me for one. "Depend upon it," said I to Fuz, " the Devil is busy here to-night, wherever he may be idle!" — Old Wellington had come staggering in to attend the thing. Thackeray was there; d'Orsay, Lady Blessington, — to all of whom (Wellington excepted!) I had to be presented and grin some kind of foolery, — much against the grain. It was one o'clock when we got home; on the whole, I do not de- * Jeannie Welsh, Mrs. Carlyle's cousin, t John Forster. Thomas Carlyle 65 sign to hear Lind again; it would not bring me sixpence worth of benefit, I think to hear her sing six montlis in that kind of material! * Ah, me; the Sons of Adam are a strange fraternity! — ^W^e are next to go and dins with Thackeray, who has been at Spa and back again; not a lovely outlook either. Yesternight Lewes and his Wife came in: spite of the "emptiness" of Lon- don, there is still company enough and to spare, as would seem, —if it were worth anything! . . . LETTER 193 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfriesl The Grange, 19 September, 1848. My dear Brother — . . . . There is something very in- teresting to me in the history of these poor Miss Littles; j elderly maidens whom I can look back upon as rosy children of my own size. It is literally true that I have " paidled in the burn" with them: such scenes are distinctly present in my memory at this moment. When you next call at Cressfield, offer my kind re- gards to the two good ladies, and say it is impossible I can ever forget them in this world! — I am glad also to hear of Hunter's * Carlyle had met this renowned songstress about a year before this date. In a letter to Mrs. Aitken (9 July, 1847) he says: "All people are rushing after a little Swedish woman, an Opera Singer, called Jenny Lind: £40 is the price of a box (four sittings) for one night, in some cases! I saw Jenny, one day, dined with her, and had to speak French to her all dinner, — a nice little, innocent, clear, thin ' bit lassie' ; some- what like a douco minister's daughter; sense enough too; but my notion was that I could easily rai.so fifty women with much more sense (one in Dumfries with twice as much perhaps); and that, as to singing, with such a shrew of a voice, — I would not give £10 or hardly 10 pence, to hear Jenny!" t Of Cressfield, Ecclefechan, where Dr. Carlyle and his mother had lately been calling. Vol. II.— 5 66 New Letters of visit. I hope you and he are managing to do poor Miss Gra- hame some benefit. At the Grange here our weather and all outward equipments continue good; but the inner man (in one of oui' cases at least) begins to get decidedly a little weary of the affair! I hear noth- ing of its ending, however; — for the people, as you may con- jecture, live by company; as poor people with 40 or 50 thousand a-year are obliged to do in this coimtry: with them, I suppose, the matter need not end for weeks and weeks yet. But on my own side, — especially unless I get to sleep a little better, — ^I believe it cannot hold out very long! Jane, who seems to like it, and does better with it than I, may continue after me till she has had enough. . . . "Making of wits" is, as you say, a wretched trade; and except the Lady A.* herself and Charles Buller, none here do it, even it, tolerably well: ach Gott ! I defend myself against the twaddle-deluge, as I can; sometimes break in with some fierce realism, condemnatory of the whole business, which seems to amuse them more than anything! — . . . LETTER 194 To Mrs. Aitken, at the Gill, Annan. Chelsea, 28 December, 1848. Dear Jean — . . . We are very glad indeed to learn by your last letter, and by Aird's and the other Newspaper re- ports, that the Pest t seems fast abating in Dumfries. ♦Lady Aehburton (late Lady Harriet Baring). The first Lord Ashburton having died in May last, his son Mr. Baring succeeded to the title. t Cholera. Thomas Carlyle 67 ... If the Dumfries people, therefore, will effectually sweep and wash their dirty closes and recesses, and keep them effectually washed; and get clear running water (which surely is abundant in that region), and drain themselves; and, in short, try in all ways to do what the everlasting Law of Things, very clearly revealed by "Common Sense," in regard to such affairs, prescribes to all creatures,— they may reap some fruit from this heavy visitation, and perhaps avoid the like in future. . . . Jack as you know, has at length got out his Book ; an immense affair for him, poor fellow. I have read it carefully over; and find it most faithfully executed in every fibre of it,— a bit of genuinely honest labour, creditable to the house, and to the man. It is perfectly certain to sell either slower or faster, and will long be regarded as a truly useful Book by the small but perpetual public that studies Dante.— Your tidings of our dear and brave old Mother were, as you may fancy, precious to us. . . . LETTER 195 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 21 April, 1849. My dear Sister— I have been very remiss in writing; and have true reason for remorse, now when I see what apprehen- sions my delay has given rise to! "Offence?" Heaven, not at all, at all: you never gave me any "offence"; quite the re- verse was what poor Crow * always gave me, since her first ap- pearance in this world,— a sunny Sunday which I still recollect * Nickname for Carlyle'a sister Jean,. " the black haired," who was born on Sunday, 2nd September, 1810. 68 Neio Letters oj very well! Never dream of such a thing as that. But the fact is, I had somehow passed my tide in this matter; and the' frequently reminding myself of it, I fancied you yourself would perhaps write first, or that perhaps, etc., etc., — in short the thing was put off from day to day; and this is the first day on which so simple a thing is actually done. After all, I believe it was your blame principally, Missus. Did I not send a Westr minster Review by post, while you were at Gill, just before quitting it, I think? In that Westminster Review were two pages (about poor Charles BuUer),* on the margin of which I had marked that you were to cut them out and send them to me, as I had no other copy: you never sent them; — you never read the Review at all, that is the fact! It was addressed to James; it could not, I think, fail to arrive? I put it into the Post-office myself. That is the prime origin of all these dim delays! Which now have at last happily ended. . . . Did they send you from Scotsbrig a Newspaper f with an Article of mine in it, this week? A fierce Article on Ireland; fiercely demanding that Peel should have a fly at it, — that at least Lord John [Russell] and his "walk squad" should give it up forever! This is the only word I have uttered for a long while: a word prompted by real conscience on my part; and to which, I see, the world is really like responding a little. Russell, it is conjectured everywhere, has got upon the slide; all creatures are called to soap the course for him, and get him down and out of sight as soon as the Fates permit! — I really ought to stick to my paper; and work away till I get heated: * Who had died on 29th November, 1848. t The Spectator, of 14th April. The article was entitled " Ireland and Sir Robert Peel." Thomas Carlyle 69 part of my big monstrous meaning, which everybody would be apt to shriek over, might then perhaps be got uttered soon! — . . . God bless you all, dear Jean! T, Carlyle. LETTER 196 To Dr. Carlyle, Newstead {Mr. Neuherg^s), Nottingham. Chelsea, 8 June, 1849. My dear Brother — ... I have continued my Irish studies, in the same obstructed fashion as before you went; have got my map, especially, from the Binder; and feel myself slowly gathering some glimmerings of intelligence and interest about that unfortunate Island. My purpose to proceed thither still holds, tho' not yet in a quite definite condition: Forster* now cannot go with me, will join me, etc., (which will not suit half as well) ; I think of going direct by steamer from this port to Dublin,— next "Thursday at 10 a. m.," or Thursday come a week? The latter is the more probable of the two. Nay Aubrey de Vere writes to me to-day that I ought to wait till the cholera have abated, for in some of the most interesting dis- tricts that is very prevalent just now. I think of Dufify f for a first companion; — to him I must write a Note, had I done with this presently on hand. The best advice I expect to get to- morrow from Twislcton, who is appointed for that purpose: he came here, one day since you went; we talked of many things, but postponed our Tour speculation till "Sunday at two o'clock." Alas, my appetite for travel, or for any earthly en- * W. E. Forator. t Sir C. Gavan Duffy, who died, February, 1903. 70 New Letters of terprise or work, is close upon zero, or altogether zero, at this moment! However, I must not leave it there; I feel withal that I ought to go and that I must go. God help me! Amen ; let all the friends that I have say, Amen. Twisleton seems to me, as he has long done, a particularly honest, faithful and worthy man. One of the things he spoke of was your Dante; inquiring if that Carlyle was "my Cousin"; testifying further, with heartfelt emphasis, to the solid value and honourable completeness of that work; in which sentiment I could not but agree with him. More genuine praise I think I have not heard you get, than from this rather inarticulate man: " Hm-m-m, very well done, hm-m-, excellent ^tyle of doing the work, m-m-m, brings Dante home to you, mhm-m-m! " etc., etc. The Painter who is doing me in miniature is one Carrick; a dexterous ingenious veracious-looking little body; sent hither by Frewen (one of my Cromwell correspondents), or rather, I should say, admitted by Frewen's means, for he is painting with an eye to engravers, I believe, and eagerly picks up all the faces that promise to avail in that direction. Jane encourages; says he will evidently succeed. He comes down hither, every morning; wearies me, I must say, very much. He is from Carlisle City; and was a chemist once: more like poor Badams than anybody I have seen. Forster will be ready for you on Monday, as probably you know before. I want much to hear from Scotsbrig; fear that this headache will not let me write thither to-day. . . . Thomas Carlyle 71 LETTER 197* To His Wife, Chelsea. Kilkenny, 11 July (Wednesday), 1849. "All well, sleep hardly to be had": that is still the bulletin, and so in great hurry before 11 o'clock come, when this City and Castle are to be done, I must send you a word, you still safe at Neuberg's I hope, and only meditating still to go ahead. Oh what a life, oh what a life! But we shall get through it and have much to tell when we meet. That Monday morning at 8.30, Fitz t and I set out on our Car; went whirling towards the Wicklow Hills very prosper- ously for some ten miles, I with plenty of tobacco, and almost nothing to talk (having got dos-a-dos, cunningly on the opposite side of the Car, and only talking to the driver, a very hardy in- telligent little fellow, worth talking to): for ten miles or more; but after that we got a new driver, new horse that wouldn't go, and had adventures enough! At 12.30 however, we, walking and otherwise, were fairly in the Pass of "Wicklow Gap," a wild scene of bleak, stony, boggy, mountains (altogether like Gallo- way and the land beyond Puttock, very interesting to me); full of scarecrow sagtails J all in grey rags, busily looking after * The MSS. of this letter and of three others from Carlyle to his wife, were sent to my late wife, by the Right Hon. W. E. Forster, in 1882. He had found them exhibited for sale in the .shop of an autograph dealer; they having been, along with other MSS. (the Tour in Ireland, many of Emerson's letters to Carlyle, etc., etc.) carried away from Cheyne Row without Carlyle's consent or knowledge, t Peter KitzGerald. X Down-pressed spiritless creatures. 72 Nan Leilers of their pcaL<. Conversed with wandering herdsmen, etc., looked with wonder upon the aspect of all. Thro' Wicklow Gap, in wild stony country, lead-mines and a little more of substance in men's existence (tho' not nmch) begin to show themselves. Finally at 1.30 in a kind of narrow, long Pit, with two lakes (loughs) in it, among the Hills, appears the scene of the St. Kevin's hermitages and world-old devotional exercises, and as memorial of him. Seven Churches, ruinous all, gone to the foundation some of them, which ancient Irish piety had set up to pray in, for that is what it amounts to now. Old damp mouldering ruins, made of granite flag-stones, the arched roof of one of them still standing; girt with thistly rubbish, graves (still new graves), and eternal silence of the mountains and their melancholy water-pools: seven Churches, all huddled into one close space — I can only fancy the ancient Irish thought they would get to heaven by being buried here. No more tragic scene of ragged pathos, and inexorable pious-impious desola- tion ever struck me in this world. For, alas, the eternal "si- lence" was broken by one sound, and only one — that of tattered wretchedness in every figure howling on the right and the left, "Lave a penny for the love of God! " — Coming back thro' Wick- low Gap in the grey dusk, a man galloping down hill met us, — galloping for surgeon and priest : a miner was killed, but whether dead or only "kilt entirely" one could not learn. The howl of a woman from the opposite flank of the valley, in wild rage of lamentation, came across to us, belike his poor Wife, Sister, Mother; the cruellest sound ever heard; it sounded to me like the voice of wretched Ireland at large, that night. Yesterday, under various guidance, I had "improved farm- ing" (by one Love, a Scotchman) to do; then dinner of sand- Thomas Carlyle 73 wiches at 4 o'clock, then the immortal Curragh, best race-course in creation, say 5,000 acres of the best land in Ireland, grazing at present certain wretched sheep of the adjacent cottiers, whose one trade seemed to be that of gathering up dung into particular heaps, whereby it did become A. B.'s own, but was not the Curragh's any more, nor at all bettered or benefited in any manner of way: a truly "Irish occupation," and nice result of "laissez-faire." Into the railway at last; cloud of nasty sand, smoke, etc., with howling hot wind, and stupid, fiercely-stolid- looking people round me for an hour and forty minutes, past Carlow; then two hours more of rail-car, where one could at least smoke, and see the mountains, waving, ill-tilled plains, rugged cabins, pigs, tethered goats (the aristocracy of the poor keep goats about the ditches, and milk them): finally about 10 p. M. I got here to Dr. Cane's, the Mayor's, where Duffy and two Poor-law sages already were, expecting me {against the law of Nature and railway bill) since dinner time. You never saw so exotic a house, bedroom, breakfast-room, etc., etc. — but the people are kindness itself, which I were a traitor to receive other- wise than with thanks and respect. At twelve, we go out "in my little carriage" to do the place — ach Gott! To-morrow we get fairly under way; Duffy is studying the route, I believe, even now. . , . Kilkenny is a ruinous, old and venerable city of 20,000; "cloth-trade quite gone to England, all but a few coarse blan- kets": this morning was market on the streets; ragged, wild people with strong sprinkling of soldiers and police: on the open street, for one thing, sat a row of cobblers mending ex- tempore the country people's shoes. — Enough of me, O Goody, enough of me! I suppose you are bored with these topograph- 74 New Letters of icalidcs; but they run to my pen, and I ought to get them down. — Very hot here, I am in an upper room under the slates, open window on each side, and through draft (good for smoking), have put on my Lustre (or black cobweb) coat, could gladly go about in my skin. — Am well, really, in spite of defective sleep. iVm writing here on the top of a hydrastisy binnacle or box-kin, there being no available table, only a big ottoman beside the big bed. ... Oh Jeannie, Good be ever with you; I must go. "Goodluck follow thee to the Orient,"* and everywhere! T. Garlyle. LETTER 198 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Westport, Mayo, 28 July, 1849. My dear Brother — . . . After Limerick, the Bourke of whom I wrote last, the younger Bourke, accompanied me in a Car to Killaloe, then along to Scarriff (one of the wretchedest spots in Nature), and so along to an "insolvent Union" sixteen miles to the east of Galway, — a drive in all of some 30 or 40 miles. We got there latish; we had a friend, "Inspector Hors- ley" (grandson of Bishop Horsley) with whom I also had some talk and tea; with him Bourke staid, I went to the Inn to sleep, — ^but, owing to a snoring neighbour, etc., etc., had rather in- different success. Next morning, a bright sunshiny morning, I got on the coach roof for Galway: 16 miles of the stoniest country I ever beheld; infinitely stonier than any Craigen- puttock, indeed in many places nothing else but stones. A very poor and desolate country indeed. Yet when cleared and * See "New Letters and Memorials," ii. 3, n. Thomas Carlyle 75 cultivated, the soil proves excellent, and everything, shaded and fringed with vegetation, grows really beautiful, Galway itself at length hove in sight, on the northward side of the bright Bay, a very curious, much poverty-struck, yet still re- spectable old ''Spanish" city; where Duffy, parted from me since Limerick, was again in waiting to welcome me to land. It was Assize-time; the Town one vortex of lawyers, not a quiet nook to be had for love or money: so I decided to see swiftly whatever was to be seen, and then take myself away. Letters once read, etc., I accordingly did the sights, Duffy and an able Editor escorting me on a car: about 4 p. m. we had "all by," and were upon a "bianconi" for Tuam, a small town 16 miles on the Sligo side; where we passed last night; and whence we this day, on a Mail Coach starting at half-past six a. m., arrived at Westport, — the poorest of all Poor LTnions in Ireland. It has already spent of British cash £133,000; needs £1,100 per week, has 28,000 paupers (population guessed to be about 45,000), and did gather, last week, in actually paid for Poor-rate the sum of £28, the week before, zero! These are strange facts, — facts imexampled hitherto in the annals of Adam's posterity. Ac- cordingly the place, for beggars and such like, passes all belief. — . . . Your ever affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 199 * To His Wife, at Auchtertool. Ballina, Sligo, 29 July, 1849. Well, Dearest, I trust you have got vsafe to Auchtertool, and are quiet in Walter's Manse this day: here also am I arrived ♦ See ante, p. 71, n. 76 New Letters of safe — 2 o'clock of a showery day, — and the first thing I do after washing my face, is to write you account of myself. My poor little Goody, to whom else can I write my sorrows, my "com- plaints," — my joys, if I had any considerable? — Bad luck to that quavering, trilling musical jackass with mustachios, a Lieutenant of Foot I judge, who scared us out of one room with his tobacco, and is now singing audibly over all the house. Sabbath tho' it is, and interrupting me here! — . . . The day before yesterday I wrote to you from Tuam, under the shadow of the big Cathedral of "John of Chume ! " A nasty product, "John of Chume": we passed his birthplace to- day; a wild grim patch of farm by the shore of a big desolate lake among the wilderness of stony moors and mountains: a place to nurse a man of some talent into a priest of much fanat- icism, — poor "John of Chume," cursing with bell, book and candle, according to his trade! — From Tuam, after a baddish night, we got under way upon the Mail for Castlebar, the County Town of Mayo, and thence for Westport, some forty miles in all : the morning was wettish, but I preferred the outside; smoked and looked, pretty well wrapped up, and nothing to complain of; Duffy inside, and silence allowed me. At Castlebar, the rain increasing, Duffy proposed to stop, and not see Westport the acme of the Beggary in these parts : I again was clear for per- sisting ; sat accordingly, swiftly wafted into the teeth of a fierce wind and rain, tobacco and my poor umbrella being my only comfort, for the next ten miles; when Westport came in view, a nice-looking Town (for all those towns had corn-factors, butter, bacon, land-factors, who built big houses), and the mountain behind it called "Croagh Phaedrig" (Patrick's Hill), where St. Patrick gathered all the serpents and also all the devils, and Thomas Carlyle 77 making a big mass of them all, in one night, hurled them next morning into Clew Bay and the general Atlantic, — more power to his elbow! . . . The "Dean Bourke," Catholic Priest to whom I had a letter from Lord Sligo never shows his face but forty or fifty scarecrows of both sexes fasten on him, soon swelling to four or five hundred; and the poor man, a good- humoured elderly fellow with much snuff on his breastworks, has a sad time of it. "Go, I don't keer if ye were dead," he says to them, and doesn't affect any sensibility he cannot feel. A short look at all this, — ^where every second soul is a pauper, and some three score Mothers with infants were to be seen, at the national charges nourishing a chattery of new paupers, — sufficed us, and we decided to come back to Castlebar that same night, instead of on the morrow (to-day); and there accordingly we staid, doing all that was doable with new Pauper Unions, etc. ; — and were about to start this morning hitherward at 11 o'clock, when, lo, the coach horn from the westward sounded; and very blue in the face, but otherwise brisk and lively there rushed in, — W. E. Forster! Shot like a bullet all the way from Rawdon, by excellent calculation he had there hit us! I laughed at the singularity of the thing, and again laughed; and in fact was and am very glad at the rencounter. He stcpt into our Car, public Car occupied by us alone ; and here he is, as large as life, and as full of locomotion as ever! — Let me tell thee now what awaits of motion for the coming few days. My pen is very bad; and in addition to the music, here are able; editors coming, etc., etc.! To-morrow Duffy and I go to Sligo (only 20 or 30 miles); there, Walker (A. Sterling's friend) keeps us as guests till Wednesday morning; Forster in the meanwhile has other ex- 78 New Letters of cursions to make along the shore here, and will rejoin us on Sligo Streets, and mount the Coach or Car with us,— for 30 or 40 miles on; to a little town called Donegal, there I leave him, to make his way round by the coad to Gweedore; . . . Enough, enough, my poor little wearied woman. To-morrow I expect to hear of you at Sligo ; on Wednesday, I am to ask for Foreter's Letters at "Letter Kenny," and will ask for myself too, he having advised you to write thither, tho' I guess there will be nothing, you being rather inadvisable! My poor little Goody — ah me, my heart is sore for thee, and that sad Haddington night * (for I have got all your bits of news out of Forster as we came along, having the whole side of the Car to ourselves): however, it was perhaps right; indeed I imagine I should have done the very same myself. God help thee, my little one; think that, beside that Grave, there is also one soul still alive who can never cease to love thee. Yes, after his own wild way, — stern as the way of death, — to love thee : that is a truth, and will remain one. Eheu, eheu! — But now having got safe to Auchtertool harbour, you will send me Letters in plenty, will you not? At any rate you will lie quiet, and get into heart and health again. And you have your MS. with you to copy, if you like; a precious thing indeed ! Duffy has always been kind and loyal to me; but he is not half so good a manager as Forster is: . . . But, alas, my Dear, I am leaving the able editor to rot; I really must give up. Best regards to your Uncle, whom I hope * Which Mrs. Carlyle spent alone in the George Inn at Haddington. See New Letters and Memorials, i. 265. Thomas Carlyle 79 soon to see; to Walter himself and Jeannie if she be there. Good be ever with you my Jeannie! Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 2n0 To Dr. Carlyle. GlenTruim House, 3 September, 1849, My dear Brother — . . . This "House" is a new grey granite one, with turrets and gimcracks; but it is by no means useful in proportion to its promise : add to which it is crowded to the ridge-tile, nearly twice as many people as are good for it; and the accommodation, even for favoured guests like myself, is by no means very exquisite! My little cell, where I now am, will scarcely hold my trunks and me; of drawers, bath, etc., there is no vestige: and one sometimes does not get hot water "because there are not jugs enough, Sir!" However, some are going to-morrow (good speed to them); . . . The depart- ure of one Peer of the Realm makes an immensity of room: so many flunkeys, lady's-maids, etc., are in his train. — The place, for the rest, is overflowed with "Gillies" so-called; a rawboned set of hallenshakers, who assist in hunting, every one of whom leads a ragged garron (like the one I have just been on), a work-hoTse in peat or ploughing-timc, but equal to carrying a Lordship on the moors when game-time arrives, — the wages are 5/0 a day for gillie and man united. On the whole it is a won- drous-looking life; and the thought that anybody should leave a rural palace in the south, and pay £500 or £1,000 for two months adventure like this, — might justly fill one with aston- 80 New Letters of ishmcnt! But "changes are lightsome"; weary are the lives of rich men that require such a change, — Our ladies "sketch," sitting on blocks of granite, and looking out for "effects" upon the distant mountains. To-day they are all off on a visit to the westward, a place called Laggan, where certain Marquises and the like are settled: nothing but Miss Emily Baring,* a solitary sketcher down below, and here I on the second floor back, are left about these premises just now. . . . This will do for a description of my posture here; you have only to fancy the country an open upland moor, of hilly surface, inter- sected by the Spey and Truim (a bigger Water-of-Milk, each), which join here, Spey from the West, Truim from the South, — a scene not unlike a mixture of Craigenputtock and the Crook Inn: no great shakes of a scene! — but with the air bright and pure; mountains, sunny or shady, from five to ten different courses or sets of them, rising in the distance, and only one high one, "Craig Dhu," close at hand: add scullions, gillies (as above), French cook, flunkeys, soubrettes, gun-cases and pointer- dogs: you will find it a sufficiently impressive scene of human wisdom, and conceive that a slightish dose of it may be expected to suffice for me! — . . . Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 201 To Dr. Carlyle. Glen Truim House, 5 September, 1849. My dear Brother — . . . I am left quite alone to-day, and have the drawingroom, and indeed the house, altogether to * A sister of Lord Ashburton. Thomas Carlyle 81 myself for some hom-s;— plenty of space too for writing, were it^not that noises come rather rife from the flunkey region, and still worse that I am but in bad case myself for any epistolary or other exertion. A general party "to picnic with the Aber- corn people" "on Loch Ericht": that was the general order of the day; but one Lord, at breakfast time, broke off, preferring "to shoot"; and I, before breakfast time, had already broken off, being in no case for picnics; . . . More than once, in the imkerife hours of night, it has been in my head to take Coach, and come south at once; but when I think of the "good intentions" of everybody to me, I find that I must finish my visit, and give it a less unhand- some close than that would be! The more I see of it, the more distracted does this Highland Gillha'ing* for English people of rank appear to me. The present adventure. Lord Ashburton told me yesterday, costs him about £1,200; and he admitted as we drove along together that it was a very stupid business,— "except in respect of health." I suggested that men really desirous of "hunting" ought to go to Africa with its lions, to America with its bears and boas, to some place where wild animals really are and stand in need of hunting; whereas here, except it be the catching of rats, there is really no legitimate field for the "hunter," and his era is quite done! All this was mildly taken; indeed we had a great deal of seri- ous talk, he and I, as he drove me to and from the scene of adventure (a "fishing" in Loch Ericht yesterday, futile highly, in which I took no share at all, but lay among the heather in solitude for three hours rather); and his Lordship seemed to * Living in a crowded, uncomfortable house in a solitary place. — Jamieaon. Vol. II— G 82 New Letters of be full of "good resolutions," with which, alas, we know what -place is paved! . . , The Germans you perceive have been holding a Festnmhl over Goethe's Centenniversary; but it seems to have succeeded nowhere; not even Humboldt's heavy eloquence could carry it thro' at Berlin; — and on the whole, to Goethe one may say as to others, " It can do thi naither ill na guid." . . . Take care of my Mother, and give my love to all. Your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 202 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 21 November, 1849, Dear Sister — . . . The Cromwell third edition got out the other day, after weary delays: I sent my Mother a copy, which you will see next time you go into these parts: there are various little fiddling improvements, etc.; but nothing author- izing me to bid any of you concern yourselves with it further: indeed such is the bother attending this business, I almost wish (in my impatience) there were no new editions more in my time, that so my poor hands might be rid of it for one thing! But in return it does bring money, more or less; and, I suppose too, it may be doing some good more or less; wherefore we will let it go its gates and not snarl at the fash it gives us. In Eraser's Magazine for next month, there is furthermore a miserable dud of a little Paper * by me : this too you shall by and by see. I struggle daily to got into some black mass of * " Occasional Discourse on the Nigger Question." ca b Thomas Carlyle 83 a "Book," or very big story I have to tell: but it will not do yet, alas, no, not at all. It looks as if I had a continent of foul liquid glar and scavengery to wheel away; barrow, shovels and self nearly buried in the vile black infinite of quagmire; — and where to begin, or how to begin, or what on earth to do with myself and it, I cannot at all see. On this side I try, then on that; to no purpose; — and many days I stand merely leaning on my tools in the painfullest, most helpless manner. If the resolution do not die out of me (which may God forbid); — if the divine rage were once to catch fire (a frightful state too for the burning wretch), I should then make some impression on it! "Dinna gang to dad tysel' a' abreed!" * — alas, there is no other way of stirring from the spot for poor me, whatever there might be for poor old WuU. — Dear Jean, I am at the bottom of my paper now, and past the limit of my time; so must off for the present dim day. . . . Good bye dear Sister; I hope to write again soon. Yours ever, T. Carlyle. LETTER 203 To His Mother, Scotsbrig. Chelsea, 1 December, 1849. My dear Mother — . . . I am scribbling daily; but there comes little or nothing yet upon the paper that will answer; in the sorrow of my heart I must just scribble away till we do get nearer the mark. . . . There is also a kind of speculation about my going down to * Don't go and scatter yourself all abroad. 84 New Letters oj Manchester,* and making a Speech, — speech in the "School Association" they have there; which I really have some notion of, for it might do good, and would be to myself a real relief: nevertheless, I shudder so at the long ride by rail, at the dadd- ing oj myself ahrecd in that way, and at the other conditions of the business, I hardly think there will come a real result out of the speculation. If there do, it is to be on Wednesday week, the 12th December: but you shall hear of me again before that. . . . Dear Mother, I have got your Dressinggown on; and a capital one it is, and many a time it reminds me of your motherly heart and unwearied goodness to me, — my dear old Mother! I also wear your stockings daily, often the new ones of this year. For the rest, I have found out a capital shoe- maker, who works in leather prepared in oil; and makes shoes of it that need no blacking, that do without tyers [laces] too (having an india-rubber mouthpiece) and, tho' stout enough, are as soft almost as buckskin! I think if I had your measure here, I would make him construct you a pair; — and will, against walking time, if you permit me. — . . . Adieu dear Mother, Thomas Carlylb. LETTER 204 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 9 January, 1850. My dear Brother — . . . To-day I send two Books; one of which is Emerson^s Lectures, a Book of yours, which may perhaps amuse you in a dark evening: it came here, with a * Did not go. Note by Dr. Carlyle, — on the MS. of this letter. Thomas Carlyle 85 copy for myself, two nights ago. The other is Eraser for my Mother; some better reading in it than usual. An attack on my Negro Question is of very slender structure, — I do not in the least know by whom. By some "man of rank," Forster says the Newspapers say; by some poor hide-bound dunce, I have no hesitation in replying. — Alas, this is but the first sough of the storm I shall have to raise among that class of cattle, when I do fairly open my pack, and make known to them what my mind is; — as really now must soon be done! I have been quite overwhelmed with rubbishy labour for two weeks or more; and only got a place of stopping, the day before yesterday; very much worn indeed. Chapman is for a "Series of Pamphlets," — kind of Carlylese "Tracts for the Times"; — and really I begin to entertain the proposition, as one method of getting my "pack" made lighter. He carried off about ten days ago, two "Pamphlets" to make the Printer set them up, etc.; and so soon as all this is settled, I believe they will come out. Terribly against "voting," philanthropy, etc., etc. One of them has come back in type, but in a wrong shape: upon "Model Prisons," — runs a red-hot poker through all that nasty stuff, of "abolition," etc. The other which is to be the first calls itself "The New Era"; upon that I have been puddling ever since you heard last of me. I suppose the thing will have to go on; — and sometimes I am sufficiently alarmed about it! For my stomach and liver, to say nothing of all else, are by no means too strong just now. But I must try to husband myself. I believe I shall have to try the thing! — . . . Ever yours, T. Carlyle. 86 New Letters of LETTER 205 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 26 January, 1850. Dear Jean — , . . After long tumbling and wrestling about with a mass of confused written-stuff here, which has been oppressing me for months and years past, — I have decided at last to give vent to myself in a Series of Pamphlets; " Latter- day Pamphlets" is the name I have given them, as significant of the ruinous overwhelmed and almost dying condition in which the world paints itself to me. The First, about what they call the "New Era," is to come out at the beginning of February now instant : it is quite gone from me; they are print- ing the Second even (which is for March); and I have begun this day to turn the Third over in my mind. A questionable enterprise; but I could not help it! I think there will be per- haps a dozen Pamphlets in all, — two volumes when completed; — and it is to be expected they will occasion loud astonishment, condemnation, and a universal barking of "Whaf-thaf? Bow- wow!" from all the dogs of the Parish. — A Paper I published in Eraser about Niggers has raised no end of clamour; poor scraggy critics, of the " benevolent " school, giving vent to their amazement, and uttering their "Whaf-thaf? Bow-wow!" in a great variety of dialects up and down all the country, as I am informed. That will be neither chaff nor sand to what they will hear in these "Latter-day" Discourses, poor souls! All the twaddling sects of the country, from Swedenborgians to Jesuits, have for the last ten years been laying claim to "T. Thomas Carlyle 87 Carlyle," each for itself; and now they will all find that the said " T." belongs to a sect of his own, which is worthy of instant damnation. All which is precisely as it must be, and as it should be. Nay, we have a considerable amusement over it here; being, I do suppose, about as well situated for speaking what is our own mind on occasion as perhaps any "free king" of these parts, or these times! A much more questionable con- sideration is that of one's bodily health holding out thro' the job: — but that too we must risk; trying to take all precautions as we go. . . . Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 206 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries^ Chelsea, 19 February, 1850, Dear Jean — Many thanks for your kind Note; which I was right glad to read this morning. I am very glad to hear you express j'^our adherence to the painful doctrine I set forth; it is really a terrible job, — so lonely as I am, no man sharing my adventure, only all men looking at me in it as they would do at a man walking perilously on the roof-ridges, — asking them- selves, "when will the dog jallf" He won't if he can help it, friends; and ho has a bit farther to go! — Almost 30 years back, I can recollect the poor little Craw Jean running tripping about my feet, eager to catch what I said, when Jack and Alick were with me; and I have always respected her rugged veracity and strength of natural judgement, and been very glad to be ap- proved by her. "No. Two" has been done some time; but I am like to break ray heart over "No. Three," which seems as if nothing 88 New Letters of could ever do it! But that is always the way; by some course or other, I shall get thro' No. Three, too, better or worse. — By the bye, as I send by post my Mother's Copy, I think there will be one superfluous, remaining on your hands; is there not? If so, I wish you could send it regularly to Gillenbie (whom I quite forgot, till a pair of wedding cards came here the other day): if there is not a superfluous copy, or if difficulties any way intervene, never mind this at all. — ^The Pamphlets have "a vigorous sale," the Publisher says; otherwise the response of the public hitherto, I think, is pretty much. All the dogs of the Parish barking sharply, *'Whaf-thaf? Bow-wow!" and a few private voices of men saying earnestly "Go on, go on!" — . . . Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 207 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 28 Feby., 1850. Dear Brother — . . . I delight to think of my good old Mother having a comfortable Carpet to step on; and you may very confidently assure her, such a pleasure would have been cheap to me at ten times the "expense!" There is a good little Book here for her, which I myself will finish to-night, — ^Vertot's Revolution of Sweden, really good reading, — so soon as her eyes are better. I suppose you direct her in the meantime to give her eyes a holiday, rather, however, she may weary. I wish you had some of our fine February days for her: occasionally quite beautiful days tho' we have a share of mud and tempest still : but we are about a fortnight ahead of you by the Almanac; wait a fortnight and you will be up to us. Thomas Carlyle 89 The enclosed Letters are not good for much: but I wish my Mother to see the Aberdeen one, and to get your explanation of the "Lord Rectorship" and what kind of wonderful Heroico- farcical Bacon's-play it is! Masson and Bain had called, the night before, and told me about such a thing they had seen in the Newspapers; otherwise it would have quite mystified me when the Letter itself came. To think of running a candidatecy, in such a ploy, along with his Grace, the Duke of Argyle, and indeed of the thing altogether, tickles one a little, not in a dis- agreeable way. His Grace I suppose stands for the Free Kirk; I for some German neologistic element and Progress of the Human mind; and so the poor boys, in their red cloakies, go running about like hens with egg! Bain and Masson spoke of Lockhart as a nominee too, but he seems to have fallen away. — We do not think there is any chance but the Duke will be elected: if it fell out otherwise, Jane asserts I should have to go to Aberdeen and make a lay-sermon;— but we hope better things tho' we thus speak. I am deep in No. 3 named "Downing Street"; and get on terribly ill. The whole clay of No. 3 is lying here, in print most of it; but the figure wants features, above all wants eyes; and my hand is not well in just now. — Do not grudge trouble for the Purgatorio; I tell you always it will last a very long while in the world! But don't bother too much over "graceful phrases," etc.: direct your whole strength to understand the meaning completely, and to give it with all exactness; be satis- fied if we have it intelligible, and dash along without minding grace. . . . Yours ever, T. Carlyle. 90 New Letters of LETTER 208 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotsbrig. Chelsea, 5 March, 1850. Dear Brother — I have got my Third No. nearly done: a horrible tussle with it for above a week past! It has now fallen fairly into two; and there will be a No. 4 called '*New Downing Street" or some such thing. ... No news at all from Aberdeen; so that we are happy to believe they have elected his Grace — more power to their elbow! I would not have gone to Aberdeen just now, and opened my tinkler jaw, for many pounds. Everybody is raging at No. Three; at least so I hear, — for I read nothing of all that, and have not the smallest curiosity to read it. I suppose the thing to be partly true; and if so it will do them "a deal of good" by and by. — I am now engaged on No. Four, and have got it also well advanced. Pity me, wish me well thro' this ugly job. "A great demand for men to go on the forlorn hope at present!" said Thornton Hunt* to me the other day. By the bye Thornton with Lewes,t etc., are thinking of the Socialist lino, I grieve to observe, in that Newspaper { of theirs. Masson is not to be of them: instead of Masson is Ballantyne (once of Manchester, now an outler, poor fellow), and one Linton, a noisy worshipper of George Sand! Aus dem wird Nichts [out of that will come nothing]. — Thornton, a clever * Leigh Hunt's eldest son. t George Henry Lewes, critic, biographer, popular science writer, etc. t The Leader. Thomas Carlyle 91 little creature, deliberately contemplates "revolution," dange/r- ous upbreak of the Lower Classes, as the one thing that will make the Governing Classes serious, or do any good! He knows little what he is saying there. . . . Take my Mother up the Langlands, the first sun-blink you have. Blessings on her and you all! T. Carlyle. LETTER 209 To His Mother, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 29 March, 1850, My dear Mother — Nobody can well be busier than I at present: but here is a little message for you. I am just about fairly thro' my No. 4 (which comes out on the 15th of April); and I mean to have one silent day, walking out among the heaths, before I begin No. 5. This is fine sunny weather (tho' with frost still) and most agreeably silent, to-day being what they call "Good Friday," — an old festival of the Church, now chiefly employed by the mass of the English population in taking jaunts into the Country, comforting their souls with beer, and eating a kind of puffy butter-scons called "cross-buns," cookies with a crOvSS stamped on them, — sacred to this good day! Not sleeping well, I went out for a walk this morning; all was grey, dim, and snell as winter: but at the "Original Chelsea Bunhousc" (for we pique ourselves on our fame for buns), there was a gathering as of people about the drawing of a lottery; I stept near, it was poor souls crowding forward for their buns, and Baker and Wife serving them eagerly out of door and window: all silent too, — an affair of real business, and no mistake. At richer doors, as I walked along, Bakers' men were 92 New Letters of delivering the same sacred very edible article ; at one particular door, it seemed to me as if the maid were taking about five dozen or so; — many children, and their bits of appetites good! "Got your buns, old boy?" the workmen said to one another as they hurriedly saluted. A fine well-living people this, — after all! The noise about those Pamphlets is very great, and not very musical, — but indeed I take care not to hear it, so don't care. Chapman is about printing the fourth thousand of No. One, which he thinks naturally is good work. What he means to give me, I do not yet ascertain; but have decided that he shall let me know accurately in black on white within a week, — while I have the hank in my own hand! — A certain second Chapman* here (John knows him) called the other morning with an offer of £4 10s. for a copy of each No., "one steamer before it was published." I instantly said, "done!" He has got the First accordingly, and paid me for it; the second he will get in about a week, and pay me for it; — and I decide to give these two American first windfalls, one of them to Jane, and the other to my good old Mother by way of gratification to myself. Jane has got hers; and here is yours, dear Mother, — buy yourself something you may like with it, or make some loved soul a gift out of it, let me have that little pleasure to myself in secret! . . . Poor Jane has caught a kind of real cold at last; but it seems fast going again, tho' she is still a prisoner. Adieu, dear Mother, Ever your affectionate T, Carlylb. * John Chapman, bookseller; the first Chapman being Frederick, the publisher. / /.;//; fi jiio'o (ij A. /li"', Ji'H''. ' ,^ JAMi \V. LAKl-YIJ-;, ALW 54 Thomas Carlyle 93 LETTER 210 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 25 April, 1850. My dear Sister — ... I am still full of business; strug- gling now with No. 6, which is to be called "Parliaments," and will be comparatively a tame piece. The "New Downing Street," I fancy has not yet reached Dumfries; but it will surely come, — and be welcome, as new potatoes always are, however late the season. I could have sent it too by post, very easily; but I judged there would be little delay, — and that it would be like buying new vegetables (as they do here just now at extravagant rates) before the due season for them. "Stump Orator" (a command to all men to hold their tongues more) is lying ready against Wednesday first: — I begin now to look down hill, or almost down hill, over my contemplated dozen; and can hope I shall get wrestled thro' them, — tho' the outlook farther on is very dim yet. Reasonable words, some few, have been spoken to me and of me; unreasonable very many. . . . I stopped your Newspaper as ordered. The Leader is a very good Paper hitherto; indeed I take it out as the best I can get here for my own use. Jack gets it all Tuesdays: if you bid him, I suppose, he could send it on to you after Mother and he have done with it. The Paper has a Socialist tendency (it is under- stood) but they keep that under hatches pretty well. Leigh Hunt's eldest Son, a really clever, little brown-skinned man, and true as steel in his way, is Editor; he and a certain dra- matic G. H. Lewes, an airy loose- tongued merry-hearted being, 94 New Letters of with more sail than ballast, — they, on the funds of a certain heterodox Lincolnshire Parson* whom I have seen, "carry on the work of the day." . . . LETTER 211 To height Hunt, Kensington. Chelsea, 17th June, 1850. Dear Hunt — I have just finished your Autobiography, which has been most pleasantly occupying all my leisure these three days; and you must permit me to write you a word upon it, out of the fulness of my heart, while the impulse is still fresh to thank you. This good Book, in every sense one of the best I have read this long while, has awakened many old thoughts, which never were extinct, or even properly asleep, but which (like so much else) have had to fall silent amid the tempests of an evil time, — Heaven mend it! A word from me, once more, I know, will not be unwelcome, while the world is talking of you. Well, I call this an excellent good Book; by far the best of the autobiographic kind I remember to have read in the English language; and indeed, except it be Boswell's of Johnson, I do not know where we have such a Picture drawn of a human Life as in these three volumes. A pious, ingenious, altogether human and worthy Book; imaging, with graceful honesty and free felicity, many interesting objects and persons on your life- path, — and imaging throughout, what is best of all, a gifted, gentle, patient and valiant human soul, as it buffets its way * Probably the Rev. Mr. Elwin who, about this date or soon after- wards, became co-editor with Lockhart of the Quarterly Review, and later sole editor. Thomas Carlyle 95 thro' the billows of time, and will not drown, tho' often in danger; cannot be drowned, but conquers, and leaves a track of radiance behind it: that, I think, comes out more clearly to me than in any other of your Books; — and that I can venture to assure you is the best of all results to realize in a Book or written record. In fact this Book has been like an exercise of devotion to me: I have not assisted at any sermon, liturgy or litany, this long while, that has had so religious an effect on me. Thanks in the name of all men. And believe along with me that this Book will be welcome to other generations as well as ours. And long may you live to write more Books for us; and may the evening sun be softer on you (and on me) than the morn sometimes was! Adieu dear Hunt (you must let me use this familiarity, for I am an old fellow too now as well as you). I have often thought of coming up to see you once more; and perhaps I shall one of these days (tho' horribly sick and lonely, and beset with spectral lions, go whitherward I may) : but whether I do or not, believe forever in my regard. And so God bless you, — prays heartily T. Carlyle. LETTER 212 Leigh Hunt to Carlyle. Kensington, June 21, 1850. My dear Carlyle — After having been so long flustered and rendered inoperative by pains and troubles, I have been treated in the same manner, this week past, by an incursion of pleasures; — letters, to wit, from valued friends, making much of me be- yond anything I had looked for, and indeed taking away, as it were, the very breath of my responsiveness, yours most of all, 96 New Letters of so that I did not know what to say or where to begin; and you may imagine how extreme the pleasure was in your instance, when it surmounted, nay, wholly drowned the very pain I felt at your giving me no pain at all, not a single word of spleen or reproof, but a very torrent of nothing but honey, — pure love and self-forgctfulness, or only such self-remembrance as made the sweet the sweeter, and superiority to everything but the desire of all good hearts to find some ground for humanity to rest upon between this world and the next. It did not astonish me; for I knew what honey there was in the jaws of Samson's lion, and I have always said that of such stuff your secret inner nature was altogether made; though I confess I did not think sufficiently well of myself to suppose that I should ever be the man to awaken thus its whole manifest fountain. Nor, believe me, do I think that it is myself that has done it even now, in spite of all the kind things which you say of me, and which as- suredly you therefore feel. I know not what objections j'^ou withhold, nor how far accord with my mere self has anything to do with the matter; nor, reverence for you, my dear friend, apart, do I care ; for I merge, as you do, the smaller thing in the greater, and only rejoice to see your great and strong spirit sitting, even if it be but to refresh yourself for new combats, in that region of peace which others have found for us, and to attain which, in some finality or other, can be the only lasting object of all greatness and all strength, unless combat itself under a sense of dissatisfaction and heart-discord (a very dif- ferent thing, I conceive, from combat physical, or the concords and discords of the elements) be our sole human destiny and mode of being; which is what the whispers of the great Spirit of the Universe to our hearts do not seem to allow. Thomas Carlyle 97 At all events I thank you from the bottom of my heart for yom* letter, and cannot but feel proud of it, whether my pride be right or wrong. As to visits, I know all about them, and have reciprocated with you a thousand in velle; for there is a being in velle as in esse and posse. I know how great the dis- tance is sometimes between ailer and ailer, however short the parish measurement. I was more than half a year the other day, without crossing the threshold even to see a neighbour; and I am only now seeing my neighbour and my very son at Hammersmith. But on Tuesday next, if you are not engaged that evening, I propose to come after tea and take my good old North-British supper with you.* Pray tell Vincent t if I may come; and believe me, my dear kind Carlyle, Your ever respectful and affectionate friend, Leigh Hunt. P. S. — Those unctuous blots you see in my letter are not quite as vile as they seem. They are honest effulgences of good palm candle, used in sealing a letter. — Pray accept the book I send, however superfluous. LETTER 213 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 2 July, 1850. Dear Brother— . . . Here is the "Hudson's Statue," a very bad Pamphlet; but the best my biliary and other demons would allow me to make it; and now happily the last save one: that is the beautiful property of it! These two days I have sat * A bowl of oat-meal porridge. t A son of Hunt's, living near Carlyle. Vol. II.— 7 98 New Letters of over Jcsuitisvi (for yesterday I fairly gave up sitting, and took to lying on the sofa, and reading) : I do not remember that for many years I have been in worse case for writing. Neverthe- less I will do it; as our brave Father used to say, "I will gar myself do it." Nay it will be much easier if I were once fairly into it. Rightly done it cannot by any method be just now: it is but the beginning of a boundless subject. On Saturday evening there occurred a thing which I doubt will prove a national tragedy; — for the death of Sir R, Peel at present would be that! Have you heard of it? He was riding up Constitution Hill on a new young horse; a prancing horse and groom came by; Peel's horse pranced and slipt, flung up its heels; the poor rider fell on his head over its ears, and some- how pulled it down upon him: he lies in great danger ever since; collar-bone, etc., were broken, the new horse was all broken and crushed ; the fear is of the head; — to-day, the Post- man tells us, the bulletin is, "Had a bad night, and is worse! " Everybody is in great anxiety: Chorley and I went up yester- day, to gather tidings, all the back space in Whitehall was swarmed with carriages and foot-folk: ay de mi, I fear the worst, and it makes me really sad. . . . T. Carlyle. LETTER 214 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, Wednesday (3.30 p.m.), 3 July, 1850. Dear Brother — It is all over with poor Peel! The accounts yesterday were of various tenor, generally black and bad, — a great crowd of people, poor and rich, streaming about all day, Thomas Carlyle 99 and large placard-bulletins "handed out to them; — in the even- ing we heard that there was a marked improvement; poor Peel had risen, washed his teeth, etc. — and alas, alas, about eleven at night, he died, and it was all ended! Lady Ashburton was here this forenoon with the news; all in tears recently and even still; going out to Addiscombe to be in silence till Monday. The pubUc emotion is very great. Peel retained his conscious- ness, his perfect composure, — took the sacrament, took farewell of them all. — I have not been so sad over the loss of any public man in my time. That meeting I had with him in the Horse- guards,* of which I told you, has now become a truly mournful and tragic one. My dear Mother and you and all of them are likely to feel an interest in this sad news; so I send it, tho' without time for a word more. My morning's work has utterly failed, — but I cannot help it now; I must out at present, and try to do better to-morrow. Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 215 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Boverton, Cowbridge, South Wales, 3 August, 1850. My dear Sister — . . . I left Chelsea on Wednesday; staid all night at Bath (90 or 100 miles off) with one Savage Landor, * " Met Peel in the Horseguards (building) about ten days ago. He looked well and cheerful; came forward and shook hands. Tom was on the way to call at his house, which is near the Horseguards, and had been dining with him a few days before. J. A. C." {Note by Dr. Carlyle on forwarding the above letter to his mother.) 100 New Letters of an honourable, angry-tcmpored old literary gentleman; came on next morning to Bristol (10 or 15 miles), got straightway into a Welsh Steamer there; sailed two and a half hours across to Cardiff, and was there taken up by Charles Redwood, my "beneficent Welsh Attorney" into his hospitable "tub-gig," and rolled away hither some 13 or 14 miles into the interior, to his strange Hermitage here at Boverton, where I hope to continue in unexampled quietude, sea-bathing and riding, and doing nothing at all, for a week or two; and so gather vigour for further adventures. It is the most sequestered mode of life I ever had experience of in this world. The place is altogether in a wild unfrequented tho' flat and not naturally unfruitful district, which extends between Cowbridge (a smartish yellow-ochred Town, equal to Lockerby or so) and the solitary south coast; a country all cut with the roughest bridle-lanes in every direction, and hardly any smooth road; every mile or so a straggling, sleepy, sluttish- looking Village, or Clachan of 50 or 100 souls (generally with some ruinous old castle in it); and the sea and "the English Hills" (Somersetshire Hills) always visible near by to the south. We are about a mile from the sea-beach here, where there is excellent bathing, in perfection of solitude: Redwood goes off to Cowbridge daily to his Office after breakfast; and leaves me bird-alone in the House, where there is not even a servant to disturb me, — his two servants live in a house entering by another door, and are always within call, but not under this roof. — We are in a kind of Village, " Boverton," but cut off from it too by walls, trees, bushes and lawns, as if it were fifty miles away. ... If this will not do for a Hermitage, there is no use trying that trade at all! Add to everything, that Red- Thomas Carlyle loi wood is a very taciturn man, — not a " conversical man" by any means; — and likes and honours me very much: a man that seems to have less intercourse with his neighbours than any other man now living, I should say! ... He furnishes me with a capital horse (big pony kind) moreover; and I mean to have a dip in the sea every day while I am here. . . . Jesuitism I suppose came out last Thursday; you will soon get it, and that ends the Ball.* Adieu, dear Jean; commend me to James and them all, till we meet Your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 216 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant ford, Canada. Chelsea, 15 November, 1850. My dear Brother — . . . I was utterly done before, in the end of July last, I could get those wHld Pamphlets off my hand; the last two in particular did try all the obstinacy I was master of; and really, to my own mind, had something of worth in them in that respect, if in no other. They have done little for me hitherto, these Pamphlets, in any outward respect; the money of them (which however I could happily do inde- pendently of) has been mostly pocketed by the Bookseller; so negligent was I in bargaining about them; and as to their reception from mankind, you never in your life heard such a screaming and squealing, — a universal "screigh'\ as of stuck ♦ Alluding to the story of a man in church, who, on awakening, called out "just anither half-mutchkin, and that will end the Ball," — to the as- tonishment of the minister and congregation. t Screech. 102 New Letters oj pigs," stuck to the heart, all running about with gillies* in their sides, and bleeding to death by the hand of a friend! Really it was something like that; but there were other better sounds also perceptible in a low key; and as I kept far away from the universal "screigh," and would not read a word of the balderdash that was written upon me, and was zealously abetted by my Wife in that obstinate course too, — it was in truth rather entertaining to hear the said universal ''screigh" from the distance, and served as a sign that at least the medicine had been swallowed, and that probably (as old Keble used to say) "it had took an effect upon them." — In late weeks, now that the thing is all over, I find the tone perceptibly altering, and have no doubt it will alter to the right pitch, or even be- yond it, — like the Irishman's jamb, "plumb and more." They had much need of a dose like that, the stupid blockheads of this generation. But the fact is, being quite knocked up by such a job, following on many other rubs and injuries to one's nerves, I ran off to a certain friendly hermit's in South Wales (one Red- wood's, about 120 miles off), as the quietest shelter I could think of in the attainable parts of this world; to try for a little rest there. . . . After three weeks or more of very torpid yet agitated existence, I set off towards Scotsbrig; had an unpro- pitious journey, so far as weather, inns, companioncy, sleep and other outward things went; — and was at last in a deluge of rain, taken up by Jamie on the street of Annan (in the old fashion you can well remember), and set down at Scotsbrig to tea with my good old Mother once again in this world. Ah me! You can fancy what a strange mixed emotion; — for a man ♦ Butcher-knives. Thomas Carlyle 103 half-mad with weary misery of body, more especially! Here I staid near a month, with as little stir as it was possible for me to contrive: I meant always to write to you during that month; but always missed it. In fine, I had to lift anchor again, and steer Southward, homeward; and so after various hover- ings about, I am only got fairly settled at home a few weeks ago, — for there has been much bother with change of servants, etc., and it has only got comyletely to an end lately; — and so here I at last am, writing to my Brother a few words over the sea. Our good old Mother is wonderfully cheerful and well, con- sidering all that she has now seen and suffered: brave old Mother! . . . Her hand shakes perhaps rather worse too, especially when she is out of order; but she does not complain of that either. She reads with all the old eagerness; is ever full of interest and affection for you and me and all that pertains to her; occasionally even jokes, in her old genial way; — twice or thrice she had a washing while I was there, and did it all herself and well. The chief falling off one sees in her is the facility with which any ailment knocks her quite down: she can stand almost nothing in the way of injury; her little stock of strength is not adequate for any extraordinary draft upon it. But in general she shifts along wonderfully, still; used to walk with me to the Backburn and round by the Fairy Brae, chatting and picking up sticks by the way: she was a sad but also the beautifullest sight to me always. Jack's residence at Scotsbrig (where he continues pretty steadily, doing gratuitous medicine) is an immense help to her: indeed if he were not there, I should not feel easy in the arrangement that now is. . . . Jack is still hearty, restless, tho' very grey now. Jamie even has 104 New Letters of grey hairs; and as for me, I am rapidly tending in that direc- tion, quite silvery on the ''hajjits" ("half-heads"), and getting a grim, austere and I hope rather venerable aspect! It is the way of all men and of all things, dear Brother; let us all learn to grow old, as we must; and know that age too has its beauty to the view. . . . Your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 217 To His Mother, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 27 December, 1850. My dear Mother — . . . Dear good Mother, I hope you keep close by the fire, and take every care of yourself, in this grim season of the year. We are now past the shortest day; and, after many storms, may look to brighter shining of the sun: — as in life itself, is not this the case? We have hope, thro* our Maker's goodness, of a time that shall be always calm weather ! — Jane and I are both pretty well here; she is out to-day, for a walk; goes out almost daily, having never yet been dis- abled by cold : yesterday I went for a long round into the coun- try; had gutta-percha soles, which secured me against the mud; I took the little dog * with me, which amused me by its happy gambollings, and huntings of sparrows; by choosing my road well, I was on three open heaths, fine green places with trees, whinbushes, and grazing sheep and cuddies: f after several hours of walking I got home in good time for dinner, and feel * Nero. t Asses. Thoiiias Carlyle 105 decidedly fresher to-day. Indeed I think I am getting fairly clearer and into a quieter state of health than when you saw me last in Annandale, such an Ettercap as I was! — The faithless Bookseller has never yet sent your Cruikshank; but no matter, I have got you a good union-dress again, and shall send it (it, if there be nothing more) in a little while. We are very quiet in general; many of the people we know best are still in the country; and at present there is little going on here but eating of turkeys, a business with which we do not much concern ourselves! I have not yet got into any kind of fixed work; but I keep scratching and scraping, endeavouring to break the ground somewhere or other: all evening I spend in reading; take a stride out, round by Hyde-Park Corner oftenest (which is four miles in all, and leads one just into the nook of busy London) before going to bed; Jane has a morsel of por- ridge ready when I return, and that with a little reading after she is gone, shuts up the day. We have had almost no frost yet, but much mud and fog. The other night (perhaps it was Monday last) on approaching Hyde Park about 11 at night, I fell in with such a scene of fog as I had never seen before even here. Confused ho-hoing and mournful uncertain sounds of men; then some dull flames, occasionally shaking sparks from them, which one recognises to be "tar-ruffles": at a distance of a few yards they seemed dull dead-lights borne each by a vague black blot or cloud, for the whole air seemed opaque and thick as pease-soup: the ground too was slippery with slight frost and most of the horses were unroughened. . . . Take care of yourself, dear Mother! Your affectionate T. Carlyle. 106 New Letters of LETTER 218 To Br. Carlyle, Scotshrigl Chelsea, 12 January, 1851. My dear Brother — . . . Our "Crystal Palace" (bless the mark!) is nearly glazed-in: you never saw such a monster of a gigantic Birdcage in your life; it covers about all that space of riding-ground between Rotten Row and the Horse Barracks, 22 acres I am told; beyond question a most ingenious and appro- priate structure; indeed the only clever or truly human thing about the whole business, so far as my feelings go. Never in the world's annals, I believe, was there a building of such extent fini^.x^d in ten times the time by hand of men; — and here Paxton (whose ingenuity is the soul of it, and enables him to employ tens of thousands upon it at once) has got it all but ready as per contract; and once its use is over, he can build it again into two streets of dwelling houses, into a village of iron cottages, or a world of garden green-houses, without losing a pound of the substance employed (putty excepted). That I call clever; the rest is like to be all fudge and boisterous osten- tation: I already have my own thoughts about flying far away from London till it is over! . . . LETTER 219 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotsbrig. Chelsea, 24 January, 1851. My dear Brother — , . . You need not send those Prison Reports, tho' I am glad to hear of new progress in that direc- Thomas Carlyle 107 tion, on that particular matter: indeed I perceive the Model- Prison concern is falling into such a state in many men's minds, there will before very long be an end of it. One particular in- fatuation will be abated; — I see also there is everywhere a stirring towards setting Paupers (and much more Criminals and Felons) into employment and under real drill and "instruction": good will come of all that by slow degrees, and after many days, as usual. We have lately had a certain Prison Inspector Perry (once a Doctor, Darwin's Friend) calling on us; he took us to the Pentonville Model one day (a truly villainous incarnation and putrefaction of Benevolent Tartuffery) ; he also, I find is warmly of my opinion about "Devil's regiments of the line." . . . LETTER 220 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 29 March, 1851. My dear Brother — . . . My little bit of writing which has held me busy lately is now over, or nearly so for the moment, and I mean to have a loose day or two for rest before further enterprising. It was a sketch of John Sterling's Life which I have been putting down; uncertain what to do with it: but Jane, reading it yesterday, warmly votes for immediate print- ing; so that probably will be its fate, — so soon as I have got a second edition made of it. I guess there is at present about half a volume; with some Letters, etc., that are to go in, and other extensions that will be permissible or useful ; it will make a small volume perhaps by itself; and, being a true story, con- taining light glimpses into several things, may be read without lOo Ncin Letters of harm by those interested. — I was bouiul to do it; and it has not been very ill to do. Duffy is here, for two weeks past; going to-morrow; we have seen but Uttle of him, — tho' he is near by; staying in your old room, since ten or twelve days. . . . LETTER 221 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrigl Chelsea, 18 April, 1851. My dear Brother — . . . Jane is pretty well; eats daily with relish, to breakfast, as I do with still more emphasis, a bit of the excellent Annandale Ham (tell our Mother); walks a tolerable space; and is in better spirits than one often sees in her case. The dog Nero . . . goes out with her in the forenoon, out with me towards midnight (often about eleven) and is the happiest of little dogs, poor wretch! . . . I have been thinking much about this strange experiment of the French, with their forty-feet wire pendulum, to prove that the Earth turns on its axis. One night, lately, bursting awake, and getting into all manner of chaotic meditations, this pendulum among other things came into my head; and I then first saw that it was not "impossible"; that it was an indu- bitable fact, — and probably the beautifuUest experiment that has been made in our epoch. Take such a pendulum (four or five pounds of metal, 35 ft. of fine wire) to the Pole of the world: it was there I first got to see it. Hang it up directly over the N. Pole; put a radiated circle (any figure of a circle, like a com- mon cart-wheel under it; and set the pendulum swinging; pen- dulum will swing "always in the same plane; " circle of course Thomas Carlyle i09 will go round under it (half-round, the pendulum will seem to go, till the wire get half a twist, then back by the other semi- circle while it untwists itself) : in 24 hours the pendulum will have swung every conceivable diameter of your circle, — and proved to all creatures that the Earth turns! The like, more or less, will take place at every latitude; under highly complex conditions at every latitude but zero, and always with longer time (at London, or latitude 52°, it is said to require 30 hours instead of 24), the pendulum will work round the circle,— till you get towards the Equator where it would require thousands of years to do it; and at the Equator it cannot be done at all. Is not this pretty? It will exhaust all the resources of your Solid Geometry to get it properly conceived; and indeed those (if they are like mine) will not suffice to do it. But the thing in general is indubitable; and among scientific nicknacks certainly altogether bears away the palm. A prettier experiment one could hardly imagine.— N. B. They have no "apparatus" (and I doubt can have none) "for keeping the pendulum in motion": you merely set it swinging, and it will go for half an hour, within which time, within the fourth of which time, the effect (they say) is quite noticeable. — Forgive me, dear Brother, for bother- ing you so long about this; and, except you have leisure, don't take it into your head at all, or perhaps you may not so soon get it out again! Unless indeed Danfe will drive it out; with which task I doubt not you continue always busy. . . . no New Letters of LETTER 222 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig'. Chelsea, G May, 1851. Dear Brother — . . . Printer Robson has got the first leaves of Sterling's Life; these were in such a confusion that I could not handily read or revise them: I suppose the Bookling had better be printed and off my hand, tho' it is good for almost nothing. Chapman is willing; Fuz also has read and pro- nounced it to be readable: — have dojie with it! — I have lately resumed my Danish; am strongly bent on get- ting the Scandinavian, Norman, etc., part of my affairs set in order. I saw Bunsen, one day, who has now lost all his Norse Books; he lent me a little thing of Grimm's; and was very kind. Full of windy admiration for the ignorant present, as usual withal. A certain Secretary of his, one Dr. Pauli, came to me by invitation some nights after; an intelligent laborious young man, but not deeper in Norse than myself, I find. Did not you once possess an Iceland Reading Book; kind of recent "Collec- tion" for the use of learners? If so, I will spend a shilling in having it carried up to me again. — Item, a reading book of Anglo- Saxon? Your Dictionary of that is here. Our Dr. Pauli really knows something of Anglo-Saxon; and I would take a lesson or two from him by some opportunity. Our industrial Exhibition gathered 750,000 human souls round it last Thursday; Jane and I sallied into the City, where all business too was at a stand. I have fine solitary roads on the Surrey side; all the Blockheadism being gathered to the "Glass Palace" so-called. ... T. Carlyle. Thomas Carlyle HI LETTER 223 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, June, 1851. My dear Jean — I am kept terribly busy at this time ; print- ing that volume on John Sterling, which needs a great deal of fiking and revising before the Printers get it and also after. Be- sides I vehemently urge speed upon them; being impatient to have it done. They are not yet quite clear of a third of it; and it will be six weeks or so (I fear, the lazy dogs) before they will let me altogether out of it. I send a snip of one of the pages, — out of the Waste-basket. It will be a readable enough little thing, a thing also which I was bound to write; and otherwise it will be good for next to nothing whatever. I have written off to Woolner (T. Woolner, 101 Stanhope Street, Mornington Crescent, Hampstead Road), the Sculptor of that Medallion;* who is to send you a copy framed (a fac- simile of one we have here) : he will send it by railway, so soon as ready; and I will settle his little account for him, poor fellow, — intending to make you a present of this wonderful article! It really seems to me, and to some surer judges, a rather clever thing, — as certainly to the little Sculptor himself: a very good young fellow, who we hope will come into notice yet. — Do not be impatient, if he delay a little; for he seems to be rather slow in such operations: you shall get notice so soon as the thing is on the road. Poor Jenny f she has left us now; and all her sufferings and * Of Carlyle. t His sister. Mrs. Hanning, who had just sailed for Canada to rejoin her husband there. 112 New Letters of confiisiony on this side of the water are winded up, — to open, in a new chapter, we know not how, beyond seas far away! I was very glad to hear our Mother took it so bravely. . . . I have been in the Crystal Palace; went with Jane weeks ago. ... I pronounced it to be superlatively well got up. . . . LETTER 224 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 3 October, 1851. My dear Brother — I am safe home again out of France . . . out of it all without skaith; have kept my promise; and am right glad to be at home anchored in my own quiet cell again, not to stir from it I hope for a very long while! — My supply of sleep was very scanty at Paris, such the noises of our unfortunate Hotel quarters; otherwise my reception was of the best, and a strange new scene of life was suddenly laid open to me, which, so far as eyes would go, I had no objection to study. Strange, ever-simmering, quaint, conceited, revolutionary Vanity Fair! Of men, except M. Thiers whom I had met before, and whom I did not much care for (Heaven knows), I saw no one whom I did not almost rather dislike to see. A sad incredulous shallow grimacing set. Cavaignac had gone to the country. 'Chan- garnier we saw one evening in the Theatre: a biggish, baggy- faced old man (towards sixty) with small hook-nose, sulky mouth and eyes, high brow, and black wig (very low over the ears); I have somewhere seen a retired Scotch tobacco- nist, of obstinate atrabiliar temper, who considerably resembled him. . . . Thomas Carlyle 113 LETTER 225 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig] Chelsea, 7 October, 1851. My dear Brother — . . . Paris looks very odd to me across the realities of Chelsea. On the whole, a sordid, ragged kind of object, tho' frilled and gilt. Of all the cities in nature I feel as if there were least there for the essential soul of man. Tuilleries Garden, Champ-de-Mars, etc., etc., struck me most, this time, by their dingy, dirty, unswept condition; poor Champ- de-Mars, and its Feast-of-Pikes Embankment! The Embank- ment once "30 feet high" has now flattened itself out to 8 or 10, is all over with weeds, its trees all scrubby, and many pieces of it torn quite away; — lying waste as the Ha' Quarry* with mere balloons and Reviews, that poor Champ-de-Mars. And a people of such Seichtheit [shallowness] and such crankling self- conceit! The innumerable soldiers, patrols, corps-de-garde, etc., strike you much everywhere; five per cent, of the popula- tion seem to be in those red trousers (shaped like a pair of bel- lows from the waist downwards), in those pinched blue coaties and strange porringer caps! But they are very civil, all, poor devils; — and, as I said to myself, have resolved into the marrow of the bone that they will either have something genuine to govern them or else will fight perpetually (at short intervals) till they all dio. AVhich really is something considerable, after all. And very tragic surely, with their present outlooks. — I remarked that the only clever, really solid and able men I saw ♦ Disused quarry near EcclefecLan, Dumfriesshire. Vol. II —b 114 New Letters of were of the Industrial sort; chefs d' atelier, manufacturers of bronzes, hatters and the like: giants in stature and veracious as prophets, in comparison with Thiers and the Parliamentary and literary canaille! In which fact lay room for reflexions very many. Last night I was reading in the Quarterly Review:— very beggarly Crokerism, all of copperas and gall and human base- ness, upon Maurice and Kingsley among other "revolutionary literature." No viler mortal calls himself man than old Croker at this time. In the rest of the Number is mere torpor and vacuity: alas, alas, how one is changed since the like of that seemed glorious and a revelation! . . . LETTER 226 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 11 October, 1851. Dear Jean—. . . To-day I understand my poor little Book is coming out; — to-day or soon it must come out; . . . No "new work" ; alas, no, there is a long groping and stumbling about before I can hope to fix on any new job that shall seem worthy! But I must try; and keep groping at least. We shall perhaps be a little quieter now, now that the Glass Balderdash is going to take wing. It goes to-day, forevermore (thank Heaven) ;— but, alas, there will new and ever new come, so long as we stay in this world, I believe! For example, there is a subUrae Hungarian called Kossuth {'' Koshoot" they pronounce it) just approaching our shores; and blaring and babble enough there will be about him, God wots. To me he is hitherto nothing but a bag of mutinous playactor wind, very doubtful Thomas Carlyle 115 whether he is anything more to anybody; and I mean to keep well clear of him for the present. "Kossuth is coming!" said a joyful little man (Lewes of the Leader) whom I met yesterday on the Street: "Kossuth is coming!" — "Yes," answered I, "but Kossuth will go again; that is perhaps the beautiful part of the news! All nonsense goes, if it cannot be prevented from coming." . . . Since my return from France I have done little but sleep ; not for a long while have I executed as much sleep in the same time. Which of course is extremely beneficial to me. I take a walk duly every morning, too; and begin to hope that my water-cure * account, when I get it well sunmied up, will turn out in my favour rather. . . . LETTER 227 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 24 October, 1851. My dear Brother — . . . I am reading a great many Books, Ducarel's Normaiidy,-\ etc., etc., and thinking a great many sombre enough thoughts, analogous to the brown-yellow livery of the season: but I cannot expect yet, with the least certainty, to fix upon any new continuous enterprise. Heavy immeasurahilities of labour are no longer exciting to me but rather deterring and alarming: "Ze jeu vaut-il la chandelle?" I now ask that with more seriousness than I was wont in former years. Panizzi J and the whole world (which Panizzi accurately * At Dr. Gully's, Groat Malvern, where he and Mrs. Carlyle had spent the month of .\ugust. t Andr6 Ducarel's "Anglo-Norman Antiquities." t Librarian of the British Museum. 116 New Letters of enough ropresents) arc a formidable barrier against any earnest work of the historical kind. We shall see. I keep very silent, have as little as possible to do with any of my fellow creatures at present; and in fact am, as I sometimes perceive, perhaps the most solitary of all the sons of Adam now alive on this Planet. That too, tho' not a joyous position, has its own ad- vantages, if we will stand to it rightly, in an epoch such as ours. —Thackeray was here the other night, "just waiting for his dinner hour" somewhere: perhaps I told you? We have had Mazzini too, and Masson and Bain, and others:— Eheu. Mazzini says, Ledru-RoUin is perfectly certain to be President next May! No saying. — . . . LETTER 228 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries: Chelsea, 12 November, 1851. My dear Jean — I yesterday sent you off a little Book, Highland Notebook the title of it, where you will find various little pieces fit enough for a quarter of an hour's reading. . . . In regard to your reading, I think it is a pity, since you have time and energy, that you did not get some weightier kind of Books, out of which real knowledge might come to you; for example. Books of History, of which there are several at Scots- brig or attainable enough elsewhere; which you could read carefully, having a Map at hand, and attending to the chro- nology, that is, keeping both places and dates steadily before you: — for example, have you ever read any good History of England (Hume's, Henry's); Robertson's Scotland; Robert- son's America (a most entertaining book); his Charles the Thomas Carlyle 117 Fifth, etc., etc.? There is a good stock of such Books; and that is the way to read with advantage. I recommend also Homer's Iliad, and Translations of all the old Greek and Roman Books, called Glassies; of which Jack, I believe, has some store; at anyrate plenty of them are to be had now comparatively speak- ing, and very cheap. It would be worth your while to have some solid good Book always at your hand too (like James) when you have a little leisure. Take some thought of this; and, after consulting Jack, and still more your own real notion, ask me to help in any way I can. — I am glad to hear that James takes to Geometry: that is a noble department of human ac- quisitions; and if he were once fairly started in that, he may prosecute it on his own strength to any extent he likes. Let him state all his difficulties to the Doctor, who was an excellent pupil of mine in old days, and understands the subject per- fectly (or did ''above thirty years ago!") . . . LETTER 229 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 20 November, 1851. My dear Brother — . . . We keep very quiet and stu- dious; I reading Preuss's big Book of Frederick the Great, a terrible hulk of a compilation, — not without some considerable private love for Frederick ; whom, if I were a Prussian, I would write about. We have been out nowhere, except one evening to Senior's to dinner; . . . Robson is at the second Edition of Sterling, as you know ; I have sent him three or four corrections, and take no further charge at all. The foolish people talk of this Book, as if it lis New Letters of werr a great new thing! And possibly the Times Balderdash has shoved it faster abroad. For example, the other night a French able editor (he of the Revue des Deux Mondes) applies to me for a copy; also for a Portrait of myself, and even for some touches of authentic "Autobiography": — ach Gott! I bid Chapman send him the copy; but as to the rest, "Sorry to say Monsieur!" — I wish I were at another Book ; that is all. . . . LETTER 230 To the Same. Chelsea, 28 November, 1851. My dear Brother — . . . Jane goes to the Grange on Monday; I stay here by myself for about a fortnight, having pleaded off from going so soon: about the 13th, it is schemed, I am to go down, along with Twisleton, etc., and so be in at the last act. — I am reading Books about Frederick the Great, beyond doubt; but with no clear view yet of doing any good by writing of him: his being a foreigner is a grand drawback to such an enterprise. Last night Twisleton was here, and poor Saffi * who is busy reading your Dante: French talk, not of the best! Safh is a very good creature, with much intelligence and modesty: Jane has got him a little teaching; for which he regards her as a friend in need. . . . Yours ever, T. Carlyle. * One of the Roman triumvirs. Thomas Carlyle 119 LETTER 231 To His Mother, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 4 December, 1851. My dear good Mother — ^This is my Fifty-sixth Birthday; and I will write you a word, one word only, for I am tossed about terribly with business as usual. AVhat a day for me; a day of many thoughts! Fifty-six years is a long time, dear Mother; but yet ifc is short, and no longer than a moment, to Eternity, which is the real date that all of us young and old belong to. We have had our share of toils and contradictions, sorrows enough each one of us: but has not the Great Father been good to us too? Oh yes, Oh yes; never let us cease to acknowledge that; and let us trust always that in the boundless durations that are coming we may have the same experience. Wrong to one of us He cannot do. It will all be right, and blessed, and for good that He does. Let us rest there; other rest we have none! And so I welcome-in the new section of months granted us in our pilgrimage; and pray for God's bless- ing on us all. Amen. This is much too solemn for so small a Note. I meant only to say I was well here in my solitude; and that Jane who went on Monday writes me encouragingly from the Granrre. Poor little soul, she had a gift lying on my table this morning, just as if she had been here herself! I get ample reading in my soli- tude; have hardly spoken one word these three days, except to the Dog Nero. . . . "A grand revolution in Paris," they say; but no news about it this morning. God bless you, dear Mother. T. Carlyle, 120 New Letters of LETTER 232 To Dr. Carlijle, Scotshrigl The Grange, 20 December, 1851. My dear Brother—. . . We are going on well enough here, tho' not with any great enjoyment of ourselves, and cer- tainly with perpetual small bother, owing to the change of all one's habits and ways. . . We have had Macaulay for two days: he was a real acquisition while he lasted, and gave rise to much good talk, besides an immense quantity of indifferent which he himself executed. A man of truly wonderful historical memory, which he has tried in really extensive reading, and has always lying ready, with this or the other fact, date or anecdote on demand: in other respects, constantly definable as the sub- lime of commonplace; not one of whose ideas has the least tincture of greatness or originality or any kind of superior merit except neatness of expression; valde mediocris homo. He speaks with a kind of gowstering [blustering] emphasis; laughs occasionally {not at things really ludicrous, but where a laugh is demanded by the exigencies of the case) with a loud wooden but frank and goodnatured tone :— he is on the whole a man of really peaceable kindly temper, and superior sincerity in his Whig way;—. . . I felt him really to be a loss when he went yesterday morning.* * Writing to his sister the same day, Carlyle says: " Macaulay was here for two days,— another kind of greatness; not entirely stupendous either. He and I did very well together, however; and I felt his depart- ure a real loss to the party. This celebrated man, tho' perhaps not worth the tenth part of the celebrating, is really a good sort of soul : grandson of a Highland Minister, and really very much (intrinsically) like a High- land Minister himself, tho' ' preaching ' in a very different element, and with a stipend immensely enlarged!" Thomas Carlyle 121 Many have gone, Ellice* (called "the Bear"), "Poodle Byng," Villiers, etc., and others have come and are coming: we are a fluctuating society here. Our grandest lights at pres- ent are Lords Lansdowne and Grey, with women pertaining to the latter; one Landseer, a little Painter, very goodhumored anecdotic little creature; Chancellors of the Exchequer and I know not whom are due to-day. Heigho! or as Graham has it better, "Oh whow!"— . . . Yours ever, T. Carlyle. LETTER 233 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig: Chelsea, 3 January, 1852. My dear Brother — We got safe home yesterday afternoon, and I can wish you all a happy New Year from our own hearth again, which latter is a very pleasant accompanying circum- stance. The little Dog Nero stood on his hind legs, full of ex- uberant joy, to receive us; and for me too there has been no such pleasant day for the last three weeks! Not that we had not many things to be interested in, to be glad of and proud of, in the scene where we were: but the environment and all its arrangements suited and always suits me so ill, I require to be fairly out of it before I can clearly taste what was really useful and worthy in it. Heigho! It seems to me the saddest of all lives,— and very many lives arc sad enough in this epoch of the world! But it is ending, it will not continue long; that is some- thing. Coming to the railway station, we met some 20 or 30 stout young men of those parts roaming about, having fallen out ♦ See post, p. 123. 122 New Letters of of work; and farther on, about the Woking region, are 20 or 30 thousand acres of waste land, in good climate, on dry bottom, the whole of which are clearly reclaimable on good terms. But the rulers of the world hunt foxes, make bursts of parliamentary eloquence: — how can it ever come to good, all this! — Thack- eray and his two girls were with us. ... I had never seen him so well before. There is a great deal of talent in him, a great deal of sensibility, — irritability, sensuality, vanity without limit; — and nothing, or little, but sentimentalism and play- actorism to guide it all with: not a good or well-found ship in such waters on such a voyage. In the Train we came upon Milnes and his Wife, just returning from Palmer ston's, the theme now of all tittle-tattle that has nothing else to play upon.* Milnes, himself looking fat and elderly, reported Palmerston to be "happy." . . . LETTER 234 To His Mother, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 30 January, 1852. My dear Mother — . . . Our weather is quite wet and changeable; otherwise all is well enough with us, — Jane even speaks of renewing her habit of a morning walk. At present poor Nero has to be content with my company at that hour : the poor little tatty wretch, coursing after sparrows which he never catches, — eager as a Californian Digger, and probably about as successful, often makes me reflect, and rather entertains me, in the Kensington field-lanes. * Lord Palmerston, on Lord Russell's advice, had been dismissed in December from the office of Foreign Secretary because of his inter- ference in French home affairs. He was succeeded by Earl Granville. Thomas Carlyle 123 We do not in the least participate in the terror of the [French] Invasion, which at present rages here. Two days ago the Bishop Thirlwall (ask John) came upon me, full of almost frantic ap- prehensions on that score, and went thro' the Parks, etc., reasoning with me on the subject, and quite "astounded" (he said) at my indifference. I maintained that there was yet hardly the shadow of a probability; and, except for a temporary insult to our coasts, there was not, and could not soon be, even a possibility; and that, on the whole, if we had to bestir our- selves, out of the abominable Hudsonism and rotten canting confusion now everywhere prevalent, and fight for ourselves like men or be slaughtered as fat swine, it probably would be a great advantage to us at the end of the account!— The Bishop could not be converted to my opinion, all at once; but seemed to take some comfort from it nevertheless. . . . LETTER 235 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 23 February, 1852. My dear Brother— . . . We were at dinner on Friday night with one EUicc in Arlington Street (a wide-flowing old Canadian Scotchman, Politician, Negotiator, etc., etc., called "Bear EUice" in society here, but rather for his oiliness than any trace of ferocity ever seen in him) : Thiers, the Ashburtons, Thackeray, etc., etc., were there, and much confused talk, in bad French and otherwise,— it was just at the time when Palmer- ston was beating the Ministry, and Notes, etc., came in from the Clubhouses; a rather sad evening amid all the levity that was 124 New Letters of going on! Monsieur, I said to Thiers, who is a goodhuinoiaed Uttle boily, but without talents except small and rather con- temptible ones, Monsieur, nous, aussi vous, cheminons h grands pas vers noire Louis NapoUon; quelque Gromnwll Second, qui jctera tout ccla dans la rivihe. Partout la " Oonstitution'' tire h sa fin! The little man was not much edified by the remark: and in general my seriousness Wiis matter only of amusement to the old stagers. I myself cannot be amused at the things I see. All people are buzzing about now with the tidings of the new Derby-Disraeli Ministry: Lord Derby (late Stanley) to be at the top; Sir Strafford Canning (home from Constantinople) Foreign Secretary;* the Jew Disraeli Home ditto, etc., etc.: of Disraeli's coming in nobody seems to make a doubt; "if not Home Secretary, then perhaps even Board of Control" (which means King of India for the time). — I must say, Here is a Stump- Orator who has not gone to the wrong market with his beggarly "Old Clo' " dyed new! Such are our portents. "It is the hour and the power of Darkness," as Abbot Samson said: "Videat Aliissimus." Amen. I still keep reading about Frederick the Great, — dull and dreadful Books {Voigt on the Teutsch Ritterthum, nine fearful volumes; Mirabeau, etc., etc.); but the subject does not the least grow lovelier to me; nor will, I think. It has at any rate the advantage of keeping me silent, and busy in thought with many problems and inquiries. — . . . ♦ Earl of Malmsbury became Foreign Secretary ; and Disraeli Chan- cellor of the Exchequer, in the Derby Ministry of 1852. Thomas Carlyle 125 LETTER 236 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumjries. Chelsea, 20 March, 1852. Dear Jean — . . . There has been nothing passing here, that was of interest to us; tho' Ministries have changed, etc., etc. The prevalence of Eastwind (the disagreeablest weather I can recollect for a long time, and really unfavourable to health for thin skins) was a much more important fact for us. Lady Derby (the Premier's Wife) intends, it would appear, a great turn out in her way on the last evening of the month, and has sent me a card among others : I really am not quite sure but I shall go for a few minutes, and see what the "scoonerils" * are like! But I doubt that is not probable either. — Nobody expects much, or fears anything, of this Derby go: the fact that poor English Toryism is obliged to depend on the tongue of a base Venetian Jew (who has nothing else but a glib tongue, with a brass face and heart) speaks eloquently as to it and some other things! On the whole, we had better not think of all that; the less we think, the quieter our humour will likely be. I keep reading still about Frederick the Great of Prussia, but without making almost any true progress towards under- standing him or his affairs. Partly I cannot get the right Books here : even when I send for them, at my own charges, the delay is quite overpowering (as experience shows), and before the Book arrive, you will have helped yourself otherwise, and fallen out of conceit with it. We sometimes talk of quite lifting anchor, ♦ AnnaDdalc proouDciatiou of scoundiela. 126 New Letters of and going over thither (Jane and I) for a six months: but this is quite a secret, observe. The icorst is, however, I do not care rightly about the subject; do not kindle readily now about it or any other subject. That is the chief fruit I yet trace of rapidly advancing years, — a thing to be looked for, along with worse things which have wonderfully hitherto been spared me, at this stage of my history. . . . LETTER 237 To His Mother, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 10 April, 1852. My dear Mother — . . . To-night there is a small Tea- party coming; a certain Lady Stanley (an old friend, from Cheshire) wishing to meet Thomas Erskine; — heigho, there will little come of that, I apprehend! But Thomas is always good, and pleasant to see; the Lady also, still considerably beautiful, is always full of vivacity and good humour. — Robert Chambers called on us yesterday; a fat, cheerfully obstinate-looking, pros- perous, and not at all unpleasant man. One night we were at a big soiree at Milnes's (ask John) and his new Wife's: very hot, very noisy, to me thoroughly wearisome: I saw the face of Palmerston there, — not quite unlike that of the late Walter Hogg (rough puckery skin, small bloodshot cruel eyes), — other- wise a tall man, with some air of greediness and cunning; and a curious fixed smile as if lying not at the top but at the bottom of his physiognomy: ... for the rest, stout and straight, tho' now in the seventies, I believe. We had dined, the fore- going night, at the Ashburtons' : that is the extent of our gaieties this season. — Here is a Note from Dickens which may amuse you Thomas Carlyle 127 for a minute: the Second Number of his new dud of a Booli* (I have not yet read the First Number) had not come; Jane made me write for it, — I too value a little the friendly feeling of the man. . . . Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 238 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig'. Chelsea, 10 May, 1852. Dear Brother — . . . Poor Jones, I doubt has little chance of advantage from this Library revolution; and on the whole the affair is threatening to take a quite ominous and repre- hensible course. Not being able to go myself to committee, I sent Jane to communicate my notions to Forster: namely that Jones should be made interim manager; that first of all a thor- ough examination and illumination of the Library's condition, from the very heart to the surface of it, should be had, — whereby we might know what kind of Librarian might now be the best for us; — and that not till after that should any Election, or movement towards an Election, be made by any one of us. Forster as I knew he would, patronised all these salutary no- tions, ready to swear for them on Koran if needful; but at the same time said, there was not the least hope of getting them carried; or any thing but one carried, viz. : the Election of Glad- stone's Neapolitan,! — which Gladstone and his Helpers "were stirring Heaven and Earth" to bring about; and which from the present composition of the committee (Milman, Lyttelton, • Bleuk House. t Signer Lakaita. 128 New Letters of Milnes, Hallam, etc., a clear majority of malleable material, some of it as soft as butter, under the hammer of a Minister in posse), they were "perfectly certain" to do. With this answer Jane returned; quite of Forster's way of thinking: — I had bid her signify to Jones in some kind way that he must not pretend at all to be head Librarian, in case there were one, tho' his deserts were known and would be attended to in time and place : this she had no opportunity of telling him, such a bustle was there. What they did at the committee I have not at all heard: Forster (who has a cold too) has fled out of Town for a week. Gladstone, I think with Forster, will probably succeed: but he shall not do it without one man at least insisting on having Reason and common Honesty as well as Gladstone and Charity at other men's expense, satisfied in the matter; and protesting to a plainly audible extent «^ainst the latter amiable couple walking over the belly oi: the former. — Such protest I am al- ready bound to; and that, I believe, will prove to be all that I can do. Of Gladstone's Neapolitan no man, Italian or other, has heard the name before: from Gladstone's own account to me, I figured him as some ingenious bookish young advocate, who probably had helped Gladstone in his Pamphlets under- hand, — a useful service, but not done to the London Library particularly. . . . LETTER 239 To John Forster, lAncoln's Inn Fields". Chelsea, 12 May, 1852. Dear Forster — This project of Gladstone's must be resisted h Voutrance : I find also that there are "possibilities" (in spite Thomas Carlyle 129 of your evil prognostics), and if there were not, that such must be made, and prosecuted with energy and without delay. The Committee (of which every one of us is a constituent atom) has no more right to do this thing, than your Henry would have, if you sent him for a cut of salmon, to buy it, with your money, of some meritorious Fishmonger (Neapolitan or other) who had a cut extremely in need of being sold. With what face would Henry present malodorous salmon to you: and brag of his "charity," done at your expense! This seems to me the exact position we occupy, whether we recognise it or not; and we, each of us, shall intrinsically deserve horsewhipping if we play false to it, — and don't bring home simply the best salmon we can find. . . . We are called each honest Henry of us to resist to the death. . . . LETTER 240 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 14 June, 1852. My dear Brother — . . . On Saturday we had a tough business, electing our Librarian. Gladstone, with Bunsen and Lyttelton and Lansdowne to back, made due appearance and had all along been very diligent and eager for his Neapolitan Signor of merit. There were twenty-two of us in all, — eleven candidates still left on the list, above two hundred had been thrown over as a preliminary: — speeches were spoken, mana^u- vring went on; finally I advised that we should go to vote, as we "were not convincing one another," — tho' all manner of real politeness, candour and delicate management was going on: President Lord Devon, an accomplished old stager, took Vol. II.— 9 130 New Letters of the uTitten votes, counted them out amid considerable stillness: "For Donne IS, for Lakaita (the Signer of merit) 4"; — after which we departed, most of us with mutual congratulations. A vote was adopted too of general esteem for Jones, and recog- nition of our obligation to do something for him in the way of permanent promotion, were Donne once on the ground. Donne a friend of Spedding, Milnes, etc., a scholar of distinction, capital "man of business" (they say), and small Norfolk Squire who, — even the Justices of the Peace, love him, — appears to be, if testimony can be credited, little short of an "admirable Crichton," fit to be the envy of surrounding Libraries; but we shall see better what stuff is really in him, when once he takes his work in hand! — . . . T. Carlyle. LETTER 241 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 19 June, 1852. Dear Brother — . . . You can send the Oharles V. to Dumfries, when there is an opportunity, if nobody wants to read it at Scotsbrig. I fear my Mother will not be able to stand it? I have not yet announced it at Dumfries; so of course they are not in a hurry for it. The last Volume of Chalmers* will stand a good deal of reading! I had a very kind Note from Hanna in answer to some words of thanks I wrote for it. Mar- garet Fuller t will perhaps amuse you here and there, tho' it is dreadfully longwinded and indistinct, — as if one were telling * "Memoirs of Dr. Chalmers," by Wm. Hanna, D.D. t Autobiography of Margaret Fuller, with Memoirs by Emerson, Clarke, and Channing. Thomas Carlyle 131 the story not in words, but in symbolical tunes on the bagpipe!— We got Jeffrey's Life"^ too, which is readable (and httle more), but somebody has it out on loan this while, and we wait for another opportunity. . . . Last night, at the Ashburtons', I saw the (expelled) Duke of Holstein-Augustenburg,'a mournful tall lean princely man, son of him who gave Schiller the pension: he has come over here to look after his shattered affairs (I suppose),— some £12,000 a year has been appointed him (by Downing Street) in lieu of all claims and possessions, with banishment from Holstein superadded; and they don't pay him the £12,000, it appears, or make any sign of doing it. We had to speak French, or I should have got some real good of his talk, which is much more rational and serious than that of English persons of rank (or not of rank) in general. We have a speculation here about taking a long lease of this House, and building a new Storey on the top of it, — by way of getting a matchless study-room there, lighted from the roof, and perfectly free of noise and some other nuisances! There is some considerable likelihood of getting this fairly set about;— but I will tell you more upon it when there is more time. , . . LETTER 242 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 8 July, 1852. My dear Brother — We are in a furious uproar here, nothing but bricklayers, dust and tumult over all the house; a "thor- * By Lord Cockburn. 132 New Letters of ough repair" going actually on! I am banished up to my little dressing-clot^et here, behind the bedroom; here stands my desk, with a few books; the rest are all now mere ,'6 New Letters of Dilettanti, Ens;lish and Foreign; and ran about, "like mad," seeking information and getting next to none; at length we climbed to the top of the highest Church steeple, and at least saw with our eyes what kind of scene it was we had got into. A beautiful old city; but quite faded and reduced; evidently going back in the world, and wearing, like Bath, the air of a decayed beau, — stately, poor, with lace tarnished and purse grown light. I saw where Frederick had been however, — if that can do any good to me, I have acquired that. Of Lobositz, Toplitz and the Bohemian Border regions, still more of the "Saxon vSwitzcrland," I will say nothing at all, — tho' this Lobo- sitz adventure cost as two days beyond calculation, and some of the queerest experiences we had yet had in Germany. Zittau at length again connected us with railways; we went thro' Hernhutt (four hours there), thro' Frankfurt on the Oder (one day there and on the field of Cunersdorf, — compared with which Creca Moss is as the Carse of Gowrie) : finally to Berlin itself, as I said; — and properly to within sight of the end of these sad wanderings. For after a few days spent here, the best I can, which will not be very well, I have all along intended and do still intend to rush directly home, and try for a little rest at Chelsea after all these sublime sights I have had ! Heigho, Oh Whow!* I declare I am terribly wearied, for one thing: and repose, under the humblest circumstances, will be of all things the desirablest to me. I have seen Potsdam, Sans Souci, etc., etc., am seeing and doing what I can; and profess only to hope that, in a week or so, I may be under way again, with my nose homeward. . . . . . . I suppose I have gained something, were the handful * W. Graham of Burnswark's too frequent ejaculation. Thomas Carlyle 137 of wheat once separated from the mountain of chaff: at all events I have done the thing; and it will not start up with promise, in my own eyes, or those of others, inviting me to do it again. The German beds especially are quite a new experi- ence in life to a thin-skinned sleeper! Were I to live a thou- sand years, I should hardly forget these miraculous machines I think; and all Christian beds shall henceforth be dearer to me, and honourable, however humble, on their account! — Berlin, a big noisy city (kind of cross between Paris and an immense congeries of Maltkilns set in rows, for the streets are mean, low and the houses have no chimneys), has yet yielded me almost nothing; sight of a few portraits at best; but I have now (by the Ambassador Bloomfield's aid) admittance to use the Library Books at home, etc., etc.; and hope, with effort, to get a little better on. Varnhagen has been to me and I have returned his call; but in him is no help at all: a lively- talking, pleasant, official kind of man; I understand every word of his German, and feel with regret how little it can do for me. Poor fellow, he is ten years older than myself; and has had many slaps too; for the rest, a riistigeralter Kerl [very vigorous old fellow], with cunning grey eyes, turn-up nose, plenty of white hair, and a dash of dandy, soldier-citizen and Sage (or, if you had ever seen the men both, a mixture of Stewart Lewis and Leigh Hunt): that is Varnhagen; and he goes to some Miss Something's soiree every night, — whither I would never follow him, and "don't intend to." T, Carlyle. Poor Mrs. Macready is dead, Jane will have already written to you: I am wac indeed to hear it. 138 New Letters of LETTER 246 To His Mother, Scotshrigi The Grange, Hants, 23 October, 1852. My dear Mother — . . . Our weather in general is sunny and very pleasant; quite warm this morning, tho' the trees are all red, and many leaves are falling when the wind blows. There is an immense assemblage of rooks (honest crows) around the mansion here; their hoarse melody is often the first thing I hear in the morning; and at all times it invites me to pensive reflections, and remembrances of poor old Eccle- fechan and Hoddam woods where I first heard such sounds in days that are now a very great way behind me. The flight of the "craws"; far up in the sky, over Ecclefechan village, on summer evenings, towards their home in Woodcockair, is one of the pleasantest things I recollect out of early childhood, and along with it so many persons whom I shall not see again in this world! Time, Eternity — God make us equal to these great facts, which lie in the life of every man ! — There is nothing to be sent you hence, dear Mother, in the shape of news; little happens that is of moment, and nothing that could be interesting so far away as Annandale. We are a shifting, not very numerous party in this house; "agreeable," that is the first law; but not otherwise doing or saying impor- tant things. The new American Ambassador * (a lawyer from Philadelphia) was here the other day; he staid two nights; had his pretty Niece and another pair of Americans with him: he * Mr. James Buchanan, afterwards President of the United States. Thomas Carlyle 139 looked like Ker the clockmaker grown oldish; really a most me- chanic-looking, tho' rather clever man; and he bustled about, as Jane said, "like a man with his pockets full of hot cinders" : — we took kind leave of him; but did not shed many tears when he went. Thackeray is coming, for whom I care nothing, tho' he is a clever and friendly man; he comes to-day with a noble- man and a Portrait-Painter; comes, but is soon to go: — "Ditha naither ill na' guid! " — . . . LETTER 247 To G. Remington] 6 Cheyne Row. Chelsea, 12 November, 1852. Dear Sir — It is with great reluctance that I venture to trouble you in any way; but a kind of necessity compels me; and I trust your good nature will excuse it in a distressed neighbour. We have the misfortune to be people of weak health in this house; bad sleepers in particular; and exceedingly sensible in the night hours to disturbances from sound. On your premises for some time past there is a Cock, by no means particularly loud or discordant; whose crowing would of course be indifferent or insignificant to persons of sound health and nerves; but, alas, it often enough keeps us unwillingly awake here, and on the whole gives a degree of annoyance which, except to the un- healthy, is not easily conceivable. If you would have tho goodness to remove that small ani- mal or in any way render him inaudible from midnight to break- fast time, such charity would work a notable relief to certain 140 New Letters of persons hero, and be thankfully acknowledged by them as an act of good neighbourship.* With many apologies, and neighbourly respects, I remain, Yours sincerely, T. Carlyle. LETTER 248 To His Mother, Scotshrigl Chelsea, 8 December, 1852. My dear Mother — . . . We have got established in the old train here, and are going on as softly as possible, Jane has left all her colds at the Grange; and roves out as heretofore, daily with the little dog at her heel; ... I am reading books as before; very uncertain yet when or how I shall get a stroke at writing again! I must try, try, and be at once patient and diligent. A poor fellow called Eliot Warburton, a writer of some note, whom I knew a little of, and had a note from while at the Grange, set off, on the very day of our return, in a Steamer called the Amazon, for Mexico, etc., about which I suppose he meant to make a Book: alas, news is already here that the Steamer took fire, near the Scilly Islands, and that of 160 souls only 21 escaped, of whom he is not one! His poor Widow and children (in an expensive house and without resource) have a terrible sorrow in these days! — Twisleton (whom the Doctor knows) told us this news yesternight, having come down for an hour or two, — not quite bad company, he. Another evening Cooper the Chartist came by appointment; a man not beautiful, * Carlyle's request was immediately and politely complied with by Mr. Remington. Thomas Carlyle 141 "a tiger marked with smallpox," but possessed of honest sense too: he told us that Maurice's Tailors were all going to sixes and sevens. Enough, enough! — Dear good Mother, I hope you will get Jack to write before long that you are still in your usual way; a weak but patient and cheerful Mother to us in these dark winter days. May God's blessing be on you always, — Yours ever, T. Carlyle. LETTER 249 To His Mother, Scotsbrig. Chelsea, 19 December, 1852. My dear good Mother — ... I have got now upon a little bit of work, suitable to my confused condition and mood, — a kind of Translation relating to Frederick,* which I can work at steadily in any humour; and for the last week I am busy in- deed! It will last me about another eight days or more; and by that time, I shall perhaps see better ahead a little. Who knows? At any rate this thing needed to be done; and the doing of it is a noticeable contentment to me. . . . Our scandalous Protection Ministry,! we rejoice to know, is gone again! It was turned out on Friday (or rather Thursday night); and the Whigs are now trying to form a "Coalition," etc.: tho' nothing is settled yet. Whatever they form, it will hardly be so ugly as that Jew adventurer J was, — "lineal descendant of the Impenitent Thief," usO'Conncll once * " A Day with Frederick." t Lord Derby's. J DiHracli, 142 New Letters of called him!— About all that, however, I really care but little; we stay very solitary here, and try to mind our own work. . . . T. Carlyle. LETTER 250 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 23 December, 1852. My dear Sister — . . . "Frederick the Great" con- tinues very questionable: nobody yet could say, I should ever fairly try to write a Book about him! The sight of actual Ger- many, with its flat-soled puddlings in the slough of nonsense (quite a different kind of nonsense from ours, but not a whit less genuine) has hurt poor Fritz (Freddy) very much in my mind; poor fellow, he too lies deep-buried in the middenstank even as Cromwell did; and then he is not half or tenth-part such a man as Cromwell, that one should swim and dive for him in that manner! In fact tho' I have not yet quitted the neighbour- hood of Fritz and his old cocked-hat, his fate is very uncertain with me; and every new German Book I read about him, my feeling is. All up with Fritz. In Germany I could not even get a good Portrait of him, — tho' they spend the year round in sing- ing dull insincere praises to him in every key; and have built a huge bronze and granite monument to him, in Berlin, as big as your Midsteeple, at the cost of perhaps half a million, which is worth next to nothing [Letter torn]. They have the mask of his dead face, however; a fiercely shrivelled plaster cast; lips and chin and bottom of the nose I recollect as perfectly the image of old , if you remember her, in those features! The face of a lean lion, or else partly, alas! of a ditto cat! The Thomas Carlyle 143 lips are thin, and closed like pincers; a face that never yielded; — not the beautifullest kind of face. In fine why should I torment my domestic soul writing his foreign history? He may go to France for me! All people are getting ready their Christmas eatables here ; determined upon doing a stroke of work that way. Such walls of beef, such wildernesses of plucked turkeys, eyes never saw: "all from the country, ma'am! " The poor people, who cannot buy, stand in crowds in speechless approval and generous ad- miration of those who can, . . . Likewise all the world is busy baking a new Ministry; which is to be laid upon the peel, and go into the oven, they say, this very night. A "Coalition'" of "Whigs and Grahamites, or I know not what: not good, but compared with the late Derby swindle, and its abominable Stump-Orator and "Impenitent Thief," it will be lovely for a season, and a relief to all eyes! Poor Protectionists, there never were men so "sold," since Judas concluded his trade. This Jew however will not hang himself; no, I calculate he has a great deal more of evil work to do in the world yet, if he live. Whatever brutish Infatuation has money in its purse, votes in its pocket, and no tongue in its head, here is the man to be a tongue for it (rather than be nothing, which is his function, could he believe it) and to use all his "fine intellect" to put words in its mouth. In fact, he is not a beautiful man to me at all, that one; — and so we will leave him, in a plight, for the present, that is rather suitable to him. . . . Poor old M'Diarmid,* we shall sec him no more, then! The day is drawing down (with the generation I belong to), and the tired labourers, one by one, are going home. There is rest there, * Editor of the Dumfries Courier. 144 New Letters of I believe, for those who could never find any beiore. God is great, God is good. . . . Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 251 To His Mother, Scotsbrig. Chelsea, 13 February, 185-3. My dear Mother — ... I keep struggUng away amongst my books; irksome enough drudgery of various poor sorts; but I hope I am scraping soil together to "big the dyke with," one day! Jane also seems a little better in the sleep department, and otherwise does not complain. She has been in much anxiety this day or two about Mazzini and his mad "insurrection at Milan" (concerning which I sent you a Newspaper the other day): a very mad "insurrection"; but a man really of much worth in spite of all that, — and who probably could not help its taking place, as matters stood. If the Austrians could catch him, they would willingly give a big "town of land" for the prize, and shoot him down like a mad dog: but they cannot quite; and that too is a kind of comfort. We learn this morn- ing that the "Insurrection" is quite suppressed and gone to pot; but that Mazzini himself is " in safety." Let him continue so! The other day I took a long walk into the country to look after a poor Scotchman called Maccall, who is in very bad case just now. A man of much faculty; bred iDriginally for preach- ing, and who has had congregations, twice, in England, but could not get on with them (owing to his own honesty, ardour, etc., but also to his own pride, I think); wherefore some seven or Thomas Carlyle 145 eight years ago he gave up preaching altogether, and has been in London, with Wife and one child, trying to"hve by his pen." At last he is broken down in health, — frightful shattering of the nerves,— and one knows not what to do with him! I found him, that day, gone mto the country (to some friends), and not there; his wife, a fine cleanly hardy Lancashire little woman, pleased me much with her air of quiet steady courage:— and I left the poor cottage with many sorrowful and yet respectful reflections in my mind. Jane hegs, from some of her rich friends, for poor Maccall. He is a good man too, and high, tho' too lean, — and harsh-edged, as a rusty li'p'ped * razor! Ever your affectionate T. Garlyle. LETTER 252 To Dr. Carlyle, Moffat. Chelsea, 10 March, 1853. My dear Brother— ... I begin to try more seriously to get something gradually brought to paper, in this sad affair of Fritz; that I may see at least, afar off, some possibility of a de- liverance from it. Oosa jatta ha capo; or, as I translate it, A thing that will end must begin! Nothing can be worse than my progress ; nor can I get any material or Book, that is other than abominable to tho intellect of man: however, however . . . The Ashburtons lately have done unexpectedly a really handsome thing to me. Lord Ashburton is on the committee of the Athenaium Club; he said once, Shall I propose you, this spring, for immediate election? I answered grumblingly, * Hacked. Vol. II.— lU 146 New Letters of vaguely; Lady Ashburton quizzed; and so we came to the clear result, "No,'' and I dismissed the matter altogether. But now the other day, comes news that I am elected, the money all jpaid, entrance money and subscription in a lump; and that I have only to go in when I like and stay out when I like! Really very kind; and so handsomely done that there was no rejecting or refusing it. Lord Ashburton took me the other night to my first dinner and entrance there: I do not much believe I shall go ojtcn; but that will be seen. Old Crabbe Robinson, visible in the reading room, inquired after you that night: very old, and clattery. Darwin, Owen, etc., were also visible: plenty of loungers there, if one wanted lounging! Adieu dear Brother. . . . Our best regards to Sister Phcebe.* Yours ever, T. Carlyle. LETTER 253 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant jord, Canada^. Chelsea, 8 April, 1853. My dear Brother — Here is a little Package, which is intrinsi- cally worth nothing, but which will be welcome to you never- theless. One of the inventions of these times, that of taking Portraits by the light of the sun, is no doubt common in your neighbourhood as it is in ours: a particular form of it called Talbotype, has lately come into the hands of the general public here; and one of our acquaintances (Anthony Sterling, a man rich and idle) amuses himself, as various people do, with taking * Dr. Carlyle had married, in the autumn of last year, a widowed lady (Mrs. Phcebe Watt), and was now living in his own house at Moffat, Dumfriesshire. Thomas Carlyle 147 likenesses by that method. Here are two of his best speci- mens; at least the two which, I am well sure, you will like best. Mine was not originally done by him, but has been copied successfully by him, as you here see: Jane's I do not think nearly so good; but it also is a tolerable likeness, and of course faithful so far as it goes. You can keep the poor scraps, if they come safe to you, under some kind of cheap frame, or safe anywhere from dust and damp (these are the two elements hos- tile to them) ; and now and then they will give you remembrances of those by whom you never can be forgotten, and who other- wise do not fear that you ever will forget them. Alas, alas! . . . In your last letter to Graham of Burnswark, I noticed, you talked of "eyesight": did I ever tell you that I too use spectacles at night, for a year or two past; and feel myself indeed growing very old. What is notable I have not yet lost much of my strength, perhaps little in any sense, but I feel a dreadful increase of laziness in all senses. ... In fact nothing but the sting of conscience, and much internal misery, or else a plain outward necessity, can make me ''rise," or get into a right red heat of effort any more. How much more insignificant all earthly things become, as one approaches day by day the "earnest portal!" Courage, my Brother; God is above us, the Good and Just reigns to all Eternity, and He only. . . . LETTER 254 To Dr. Carlyle, Moffat. Chelsea, 15 April, 1853. My dear Brother — . . . I am at present on some negotia- tion for admission to the inner rooms of the Museum: but 148 New Letters of Panizzi, who oaii hiiiisolf do nothing, is not encouraging; to- morrow I am to sec Halhini, and unless he give nie some heart (which the gootl old soul will if he can), I shall quietly let the matter drop. After all, Books are not what will make me rise; it is astonishing what little profit, in any form whatever, one too often gets out of Books! With Prussian Books on Fried- rich, for example, one might load a waggon ; and the knowledge even Prussians have of Friedrich I find to be frightfully like zero, in spite of Books. Not one genial Book yet exists on the subject. . . . Do you read the Edinburgh Review ? In the last No. is a scourging Article (of which I read three pages to-day in the Library) on Disraeli, — b}' Hay ward. Diamond cut dia- mond; Jew pull the dirty ragged pate of Jew! I agree with Hayward, however, there is hardly any uglier phenomenon in these times than the political history of that uncircumcised (or circumcised) Adventurer. — I saw nothing else in the Re- view; but had heard the review of Alison was by one Greg, a writing Hodman of some name, once a cottonspinner of ditto. George Comewall Lewis, dullest of learned mortals, is now Editor, — more power to his elbow. I read hardly a page of any book or any pamphlet, but what turns on my own sad subject: I have enough of dulness steadily awaiting me of its own accord there. I have mostly given up the Leader News- paper, it had got so utterly washy and frothy; the Examiner, which we get instead, is not a lively or inspired production, not it either! But one finds old Crawford, etc., in it: and one does not find August Comte, the spirit-rappers, Holyoake and that sad etcetera. . . . Thomas Carlyle 149 LETTER 255 To Dr. Carlyle, Moffat. Chelsea, 20 May, 1853. My dear Brother — , . . My difficulties with Frederick are two: first, the vague shoreless nature of the subject, which has been treated hitherto by hardly any man of superior under- standing, and lies "like water spilt upon the ground" (hardly to be gathered up here at Chelsea, I doubt): second, what is still worse, the want of sufficient Love for lean Frederick and his heroisms, on my part, — which is a sad objection indeed! Only pain can now drive me through the subject; led and in- duced through it I shall never be. I tremble at the thought of such "drivings" as I have known before now. Bosworth (215 Regent Street) applied for leave to reprint in Railway form some of my Essays; answer from Chapman, "No," — but determination by Chapman now to do it himself at last. "Biographical Essays"; about ten of them in all; beginning with Johnson, which I have now got, and am correct- ing for the shilling-pamphlet artists. Three thousand copies, and to me £20 for each shilling-pamphlet: fair enough on the money side. Bosworth, at present, wants to print the "Occa- sional Discourse on the Nigger Question" (to astonish the Uncle-Tommery a little) ; but that I find questionable hitherto, — the Piece itself (as I see to-day) is very imperfect, in parts bad; and the "cry of stuck pigs" which is sure to follow from it (and is not a musical thing) will be great. I doubt, I doubt. —Jeffs the Foreign Bookseller "applies for an interview"; 150 New Letters of some French Publisher intends a Translation of French Revolu- tion a History: very well, — if he can find a French Translator! I have appointed Jeffs to-morrow at 3. These are bits of events; these, in the day of small things. . . . Yours ever, T. Carlyle. LETTER 256 To Dr. Carlyle. Chelsea, 13 June, 1853. My dear Brother — . . . Mazzini, home safe from his mad adventure, was quite cheerful, gay and amusing; and did not seem in the least conscious of what a poor figure he had cut in the eyes of all rational onlookers, or how much he had lost in men's esteem here by such a pitiful "Revolution" h la Donny- brook. He stays constantly in a circle of , etc.; and, I conjecture, is glad to be worshipped in that circle, without in- quiring too strictly what circle it is! I find less of the "Martyr" in him, a good deal, ever since he made that Triumvirate ap- pearance on the stage; and more of the man "starring it in the provinces"; — in fact he seems to me a happier, also pleasant- er, but by no means to grow a wiser man; . . . For the present, we have (occasionally) a Yankee Lady,* sent by Emerson, who has discovered that the "Man Shake- spear" is a Myth, and did not write those Plays which bear his name, which were on the contrary written by a "Secret Asso- ciation" (names unknown): she has actually come to England for the purpose of examining that, and if possible, proving it, from the British Museum and other sources of evidence. Ach Gott!—. . . ♦ Miss Delia Bacon. Thomas Carlyle 151 LETTER 257 To Dr. Carlyle, Moffat, Chelsea, 27 June, 1853. My dear Brother— I got your last Letter duly; and, as you may believe, it has been often in my thoughts since. Alas, alas! The thing that I have feared, all my life ever since con- sciousness arose in me, is now inevitably not distant. I gather from your softened expressions, how very weak my poor Mother is; how unlikely you think it that she should be spared to us much longer. No sterner thought ever fixed itself in my mind; — there it dwells ever since your Letter came: and why should I attempt to put it away! The Past is now all that we have; in the Future there can be rationally no store of hope for us. Ah me, ah me! — Really one of my chief comforts at present is the thought that you are near my good and dear old Mother; that nothing which can be done for her solace and alleviation is or will be omitted by you. I am very weak here, far away, and as good as able to do nothing. I calculate that, if I live much longer, I shall weep once more in this world, and probably but once, however long I live! But we nmst not dwell on that either; we must take the blessed and heavenly element along with us that lies in this sadness too; and, on the whole, "trust in God," as our dear Mother would say, —-even so, "trust in God" for all that lies ahead of us in Time, and in the Etcr.'^ities that are beyond Time. — . . . Jane is on the eve of going off to you; will go this week, she says; day not fixed: I guess towards the end of the 152 New Letters of week; but she is out just now, and has not said precisely, — but doubtless will tell you in time. Poor little soul, she too is far from well; but you will take good care of her at Moffat; and the excursion bids fair really to do her good. — Adieu, dear Brother. . , . With love to Sister Phoebe, Yours ever affectionately, T. Carlyle. LETTER 258 To His Mother, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 29 June, 1853. My dear good Mother — . . . This morning we had again a Note from John: he is very punctual about writing; which, as well as his being near you and always within reach, is a great comfort to us. In the Note before last he told us of a ham you were about sending; good kind Mother! It was very wise and right that he advised you not to send it at present; but the thought of its being intended to be sent is, and will remain, a thing of real value to me. It is one of a thousand such things with which my poor life, ever since it began, has been made rich bj'^ you. Whatever other things have gone wrong with me, the love of my true Mother never went wrong; but followed me ever inseparable, in good and evil fortune, and I should be harder of heart than is suitable for man if I could ever forget that fact. And, alas, what can I do in return for you, dear Mothor? Nothing, nothing! I will try to live by tho nOole example you showed; and to hold fast for myself, and speak abroad as I can for others, the precious simple wisdom I learned from my Mother : let that be a comfort to her in her old age, in looking back upon a long life that has many Thomas Carlyle 153 sorrows in it. And let us all take Courage, courage ; and look, with humble trust, for a good issue to all that was really good in us.; and thro' Time and thro' Eternity, never quit that sacred hope. Oh thank you, thank you, dear pious-hearted Mother, for the precious breeding you gave me: things that I feel to be xvise, to be God's truth, and fit to be spoken aloud before all mortals, and even thundered in their ears in these sad days, — how often do I find with an unspeakable tenderness of recollec- tion, ''That is thy Mother's, now; that thou got from thy poor Mother, long ago! ]May God reward her for it, — as of a surety He will and does!" — I think, the older I grow, the more entirely I feel myself my Father's and my Mother's Son; and have more and more reason to be thankful, and piously proud, that I had such Parents. Courage, dear Mother, we will not fear anything, but hope till death and thro' death! The soul that has been devoutly loyal to the Highest, that soul has the eternal privilege to hope. For good is appointed it, and not evil, as God liveth! . . . Jane is going off towards you, she decides, on Satur- day first, . . . Poor little Jeannie, she is greatly failed, and I think even failed since last year; but she has a wonderful spirit in her still, and fights along never yielding. — . . . I am ever my good old Mother's affectionate Son, — with blessings and prayers, — T. Carlyle. LETTER 2.59 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 15 August, 185.3. Dear Jean — ... A certain John Chorley (once a gentleman of mark in the Railway world and elsewhere; at 154 New Letters of present, a retired philosopher, tho' still young; really a clever, learned man, and very fond of me) is the only person now known to me in the world who fairly possesses the faculty of mending a pen. He has other, many other, fine and useful faculties, and with these too serves us here; but in a particular manner with pen making and what belongs to that. — Well, this excellent Chorley complains that, in the whole earth, for a long time back he has not been able to find what he accounts a really good pen- knife, — but finds all blades (even Rodgers' of Sheffield, etc., etc.) to be made of poor ill-tempered steel. I lately gave him my penknife to sharpen: he made both blades keen and fine as a razor; — observed withal that he had not seen such a bit of honest steel as was in that knife for ten years back, and could not get such a piece for love or money. That penknife was got new-bladed by your James at Cutler Hinchcliff's; it was Hinch- cliff who put that pre-eminent steel where it now is! In con- sequence I have come to the resolution (and stated it to Chorley) of getting him a penknife from the same place, — the very best HinchclifP can be persuaded to make. That is all: but really that is something considerable; for Chorley has obliged me hundreds of times, and would run for me by night or by day (tho' a hard and angry man otherwise) ; so that it would give me real pleasure to make him this little Gift in a complete and triumphant form. Here are the essential particulars of the thing: Double-bladed knife, — one blade a ''cut-stick," the other for pens (or there may be two for pens, if you like, but one will do), and sharp-pointed shape is preferred for this. Buckhorn handle. These however are all perfectly unimportant particu- lars in comparison: the particular of particulars is, that the steel Thomas Carlyle 155 be as good as mine is! This will cause the grim heart of Chorley to rejoice when he sees it; and he is a judge. Earnestly entreat James and the excellent Hinchcliff to do their very best towards attainmg me this small but useful blessing. And there shall be cheerful payment, not of money only, but of gratitude, as reason good. Perhaps Mr. Hinchcliff does not make knives at all? In that case, he must knock the blades out of some useful buckhorn handle, and put in right ones of his own, right ones! And this is all. ... Yours ever, T. Carlyle. LETTER 260 To John Forster, Lincoln's Inn Fields. Addiscombe Farm, Croydon, 29th September, 1853. Dear Forster — I am grateful for a word from your hand again, tho' the news is very sad. Till my Wife saw Henry the other day, I could not guess what had become of you, and ran into all sorts of bad conjectures. Alas, the inexorable Years, that cut away from us, one after another, the true souls whom we loved, who loved us truly: that is the real bitterness of life; against which there is no remedy, and natural tears must fall! But wo ourselves, my friend, it is not long we have to stay be- hind; we too shall find a shelter in the Silent Kingdoms; and much Despicability that barked and snarled incessantly round us here shall there be without the walls forevermore. "Blessed are the Dead." I often silently say. " If we had done our work, it were good for us to be dead too, — and safe with all our loved ones round us, there!" God is Great, say the Moslems; to 156 New Letters of which wo add only, God is Good, — and have not, nor ever shall have, any more to say. Happily you are not worse in respect of health. You must take all pains (for really that is your great interest), and get better and better. I have no doubt, a thorough reform of regimen upon which I hope you have determined, will do wonders for you. Literally wonders. It is a fact, I should not have lasted any one year of these last thirty on your terms; and, on my own, you see I am still struggling along! Attend to this, I very earnestly entreat you. We cannot do with our Forster in that sick state at all ! — This is my third week of an almost perfect Hermitism out here; such a life as I have rarely had experience of ; for my Wife is mostly at Chelsea, and for days together I literally do not speak one word! I think it is to end on Saturday. Next week, drive down to Chelsea any day, you will probably find us both; — or write (to my Wife), and appoint some evening, with tea, either there or at Lincoln's Inn Fields. — God bless you, dear Forster. Yours always, T. Carlylb. LETTER 261 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 18 November, 1853. My dear Jean — . . . The other night some Americans were here; one of them, an official man in his own country, cer- tified me that my dormant American Bonds would yet be paid, principal and interest, to the last penny, and that before long! Very well; it was a loss of £230, to which I had quite reconciled Thomas Carlyle 157 myself; and so the £350 it has now grown to will be like money found, and very useful in the present expenditures,* — if we actually had it ! The truth is I never bother myself about money at all; having other far deeper bothers which quite abolish that. — There is another thing I wanted to confide to you and to my Mother, tho' it is a secret and I want you to keep it such. This is it. Prince Albert, as I know from a very sure source (one Sir James Stephen, once an official of weight), proposed me, at the end of this Session of Parliament to Lord Aberdeen for a Pension! Canny Aberdeen, a douce, small headed, sleek and feeble old gentleman, whom I have seen once, and talked a little to, getting little but smiles and commonplaces in return, — he shook slightly his canny head, and thought my "heterodoxy" on some points might be objectionable. And so it stands; — and may as well stand; for I am sure I should have had to re- fuse Lord Aberdeen's offer (in the quantity and in the style he would have offered); and that would not have been pleasant. I consider it likely enough there will yet a better offer of the kind be made, if I live some years; and that we can deal with, as shall then (on clearer grounds) seem good.f Few men, I sup- pose, ever wanted a Pension less: and if it is thrown me as a bit of charity, I am bound not to take it; if either it, or the way of giving it, is not quite to my mind, why should I dream of taking it? "Having carried on my work thus far," as Johnson said, "with so little help from the powerful, I am content to finish it, ♦The outlay for the "sound-proof" study now hoine; built on the roof of the house; and for general and extensive repairs and alterations to the house itself. t The " better ofTer" was made in December, 1874, by Disraeli, tho Grand Cross of the Bath and a pension "equal to a good fellowship." The ofTer came too late, and was courteously declined. 158 New Letters of if less be possible, with less!" — and no Supreme Burgh Bailie (of the Aberdeen species), never so sleek or canny, "can do th' aither ill or guid." — This is the little bit secret, which is for my Mother and you. I think it will be better not to mention it farther; for really I should not like it to be known or talked of at all. . . . LETTER 262 To W. Lattimer^^' Carlisle. The Grange, 15 Deer., 1853. Sir — I myself hear nothing practical as yet about that cheap edition of my Book; and am inclined to think it may still be a year or two before any such edition actually see the light. This is all the intelligence I can send you on that subject. As you seem to be a studious enquiring man, I will recom- mend you to read well what good Books you have at command, and to reckon always that reading well is greatly more impor- tant than reading much. Not to say that the best wisdom, for every man, does not lie in Books at all, but in what conclusions he himself can form, and what just insight arrive at, from all manner of suggestions and helps, whereof Books are but one sort. With many kind wishes, I remain. Yours sincerely, T. Carlyle. * W. Lattimer was a "working man," by trade a cork-cutter. Thomas Carlyle 159 LETTER 263 To Alexander Carlyle, Br ant j or d, Canada. Scotsbrig, 28 December, 1853. My dear Brother — To-day comes the saddest news I ever sent you from this place; the sorrow you have no doubt long been anticipating: our good and beloved old Mother is gone from us; on this Earth we have no Mother. She died on Sun- day last (the 25th) at t^n minutes past four in the afternoon; nothing else had been expected for many weeks and months; she had endured much suffering too (tho' without any disease except old age), and was spent to the last thread of weakness, hardly could you fancy a weaker creature with life, with clear intellect and generous affection still left. The good Doctor was unwearied in his attendance, coming from Moffat once or twice a week this long while, and lately staying here nearly al- together. Jean and Mary alternated in their attendance for several months; for almost the last two, it had been chiefly Jean alone whom our Mother seemed to prefer, and who indeed alone of the two had strength sufficient either of body or mind : Jean refused to be worn out, and has indeed stood with faithful, almost heroic affection to her task, in a loving manner well re- warded with love; looks greatly fatigued and excited, but I think will recover herself gradually without damage. I came from Chelsea hither only on Friday morning last, after great uncertainties as to what I ought to do, — for I could ill move, and felt that I should be in tho way here. It had long been sig- nified expressly to our dear Mother that if she gave the least sign of wish to me I could be with her in one day; but she was 160 New Letters of too magnanimous ever to express such a wish; and it was not till liist week that I could fairly see I ought to go without delay. During the journey it became frightfully uncertain to me whether I should still find her alive; walking from Kirtlebridge where the morning early train had set me down, I durst ask nobody; I learned with certainty only when half-way up this stair-case. Thank God (as I may do for the rest of my life), my dear old Mother was still alive, still able with a perceptible joy to recognize me: her mind tho' occasionally clouded with pain and extreme weakness, was there, as it had always been, and as it continued still more conspicuously to the end, clear, quietly nobly patient, simple and composed : her spirit, her very fonn of character and humour (for she occasionally spoke with a faint touch of jocosity, in her old fashion even in late weeks) continued entire to the very last, to a most singular degree; I likened it to a bit of sharp steel ground now to the very back, yet still the same steel in all respects, and with the same edge. Her weakness that Friday, after all I had heard so long, was almost beyond my expectation; she had a restless weary day, asleep and awake from minute to minute; — mistook us several times; me once, "did not know me at all," yet sent Jane out directly after (the good generous ever-loving Mother!) to bring me back with apologies, "That I was Tom, that she knew me right weel." After midnight when I was retiring, she said as in old healthy days, "Tell us how thou sleeps! " Ah me, ah me! On the morrow, especially towards dusk and afterwards, she was visibly weaker; but her mind was steady and clear as it had ever been, indeed to a degree that still astonishes me. Struggling for breath (for she had not strength to take half an ordinary fill of the lungs, as John explained to us), she was in Thomas Carlyle 161 great suffering and distress for some hours; little sips of a kind of drink ("give me a spark of that thing"), shifting of her posture; restlessly struggling (as seemed evident then) with the last enemy, in this condition she asked for Jean; heard that she was "seeking up coals" (from the old shed you will remember), and thereupon ordered John to "hold the candle to the Window" for light to Jean! Such a trait I never witnessed from any creature before; and there were others of the like which I shall remember with satisfaction as long as I live. — Jean said she nightly heard her wliispering her prayers all along; forgetting none of us, "going round by America too now" (as she sometimes would say, when speaking of it), nay not for- getting any public or general interest fit for prayer; and think- ing only of herself and her own grandest interests as subject and posterior to these. Oh my Brother, we are to be forever thank- ful to such a Mother! A pious dignity, a truth, affection, gen- erosity, and simple valour and invincibility were in her, such as are given to only very few; and are a high and noble treasure, far above this world's wealth, to all connected with them. — About midnight of Saturday, there being no relief visible any- where, John ventured not without apprehension, on a small appliance (half her former quantity) of laudanum, in two portions; this very soon brought abatement. A little after midnight, John said to her, "Here's Tom come to bid you good- night." She looked kindly at me, as she had done even in the worst pain, and she was now somewhat easier; I kissed her cold lips; and she took leave of me in these words, "I'm mucklc obliged t'ye,"* audibly whispered; which are forever memo- *"I am mucli obliged to you." Had Mr. Froudo bopn in cjuest of an epigrammatic phrase truly descriptive of the relations between Car- VoL. II.— 11 162 New Letters of rablo tome;— which except a "yes" and a "no" in answer to questions from Jolin about one and about four o'clock, were the last she spoke in this world. For shortly after midnight, she fell asleep, slept ever deeper for sixteen hours; her look on Sun- day morning and all day pointing grandly towards death as we sat by her: about 3.45 p. m. the breathing rather suddenly sank fainter (it had never been harsh, nor was there any phlegm), — paused once or twice, and then gently ceased; and she was with God. Amen, amen. — My only consolation ever since is, the thought that she is freed forevermore from great bodily suffering; that she finished a life full of sorrows, but also full of worth, and such as only a few whom God loves can lead. — This is what I had to write, dear Brother, not in good circumstances for imparting in a proper way such news to you. Please send the Letter forward to Jenny, to whom I will now write only the Ij'le and his mother, he ought to have chosen this rather than his cele- brated one, "Gey ill to live wi'." For if ever a mother had good cause to be obliged to a son, it was Mrs. Carlyle in regard to her eldest. The origin of the phrase, " Gey ill to deal wi'," which Mr. Froude twists into " Gej' ill to live wi'," and repeats in this form ad nauseam, deserves to be generally known. I have it from Mr. David Wilson, author of " Mr. Froude and Carlyle," to whom it was told in 1895 by Mrs. Hanning, Carlyle's youngest sister, and also, independently, by Mrs. Manning's eldest daughter, and may be relied on as absolutely correct. — When Carlyle was home at Mainhill in the summer of 1820, he was in more than usually delicate health, and his mother provided chicken for him almost daily, it being the only meat he could digest. He complained to her sev- eral times that it pained him to hear, day after day, the screeching of the poor fowls as they were being killed. But the screeching went on; and one day he said : " If you can't stop the screeching, Mother, I can stop the eating; I won't eat another chicken if it is killed in that way." " Eh, what'll thou eat then?" asked his mother; and presently added with mock severit}', to the amusement of all at the table, " Thou's gey ill to deal wi' I think." This is the foundation of the now world-famous myth, (still taken for truth by many) that Carlyle's mother "described" her "Tom" as a man "very ill to live with "! Thomas Carlyle 163 bare fact. The Funeral is to be to-morrow (Monday); the weather is frosty with some snow. You will, after that, hear some humbler details about business, and have your consent asked to what the other three parties here shall think wisest to to be done in that respect. — I received from you duly what you wrote; well that you rejected the Books.* I hope to write you soon again; and now bid God bless you! Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 264 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 14 February, 1854. My dear Sister — . . . My poor Mother's good old mis- sives, turning up again in this manner, caught me keenly by the heart. Alas, alas, she is gone from us; and we must not lament her, cannot complain of the universal inevitable law. She was lent to us, as it were, to the very last day that it could be profitable: many a time in the hard cold mornings I think, '^ She is not suffering by it!" We could not protect her farther; the time was come when we had to part. God is over all! — I could not destroy the poor old Letters; yet some day they must be destroyed, for they belong to ourselves alone, and stupid "posterity," if it thought of such a thing, would make mere nonsense of them: I have sealed these two up, in a safe place; I have others also scattered about in certain parcels in my drawers: one day before I die, I must sort all that, and call in * A present from Carlyle, on which an extortionate charge fur car- riage had been claimed, — perhaps at the rate of letter-post. 1G4 New Letters of the aid of fire in behalf of what is sacred.— My good, my kind and dear old Mother! I speak of her to nobody; speak with people about anything that is of the day and place: but the instant I am left alone, her meek image rises on me; her face as she lay in bed that last Sunday; her kind smiles on me, flickering thro' the gloomy clouds of death in those last two days, — and then backwards thro' all the scenes and passages since memory began with me: — all this is constant enough in its attendance : I often think it is with me as w^ith Ulysses (in old Homer); at the utmost and worst passage of his wander- ings he converses wath the shade of his ]\Iother! My heart does not lament; but it is sad often as heart can be. And yet not a bitter or unblessed sadness: God be forever thanked that He gave us such a Mother; and spared her with us so long. I will speak no more of these things. As you seem to have seen my last Letter to Jack, I can have no news to occupy your paper with. We are both of us in the usual ineffectual state of health, not worse, rather better I; nor am I quite useless for work, tho' my success is, it must be owned, inconceivably small! I keep mining, and digging and shovelling; something will and must come out of it yet, if I live. If I don't, — ^well, it is perhaps little matter to anyone, and to me certainly none, if I have done my best: I feel in my heart every day a greater contempt for what they talk of as "fame," "success," etc., in this poor Anthill of a world; and looking at it thro' spectacles, as I now do, the royallest figures in it do not seem too royal. I am getting freer and freer of a great many ugly coils, delusions and encumbrances, by dint of seeing them better and myself better, — with old eyes instead of young. Thomas Carlyle 165 . . . People babble greatly about a Turk* war; and cannons, etc., of ours are actually under sail thither: yet I always think to myself, it surely never can come to serious fighting on our part in such a quarrel : one man I know at least who never will fight upon it, but wait for a thousandfold better one! — . . . Yours ever, T. Carlyle. LETTER 265 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 19 April, 1854. Dear Jean — . . . Tell me a little about Aird; he seems getting very rusty in his Newspaper labours: the death of Wilson t at Edinburgh must have been a heavy stroke to him, the' it had been long expected as inevitable. Wilson was by far the weightiest I^iterary figure left in Scotland, or indeed in Britain; and might have been, in fact, a great man, could he have taken care of himself. But he could not; there was from the first a loose joint about the very centre of his existence, — a want, namely, of distinct veracity of mind; — so all his fine great gifts went tumbling helter-skelter into huge uncertainty, into inextricable confusion: and on the whole he had to call in the aid of whinky-jmnch to a large extent, J for many years ; and has come to nothing more than we sec. Poor fellow, there was something very generous in him, too; very proud * The Crimean War. t "Chri.stopher North." X See Mrs. Gordon's Life of Wilson, p. 137. lOG New Letters of unci stout: nor is it easy for so big a waggon to get thro' the dirty intricacies and vile parish-roads of this world, at present! — . . - LETTER 266 To Dr. Carlyle, Moffat. Chelsea, 13 October, 1854. My dear Brother — I was very glad to hear of your precise locality again; I hope to hear something farther, and more in detail, before long, — to-morrow perhaps? Alas, Moffat is a changed place to you;* a sadly changed place even to me when I think of it! But we must not look too much behind; we must do what is at hand and ahead; our Life, and what we have to do, is still ahead. It will give me great comfort indeed to hear that you have gathered yourself together, and made a wise arrangement for still profiting by your future j^ears. . . . We are living as heretofore ; "nothing" the matter. I have been several times at the State-Paper Office, looking after my weary problem: God help me with it. If I live, I must get through it; in one form or another, it is my faith, there comes good fruit out of all good labour; — and probably j)art of this is good! One rather strange thing I must announce. Lord Ash- burton came here, unexpectedly, one morning; hot from the Highlands (on some sudden errand, connected with dangers in the money market, I suppose) ; he was to return in 48 hours, and I did not see him again. He wore a respectable, really rather handsome heard: once, in a careless way I had said, last * Dr. Carlyle's wife had died a few weeks before this date. Thomas Carlyle 167 year, if he adopted a beard, I would follow : he now claimed my promise, Jane and he combining; I admitted the promise, the desirability, etc., but strove to postpone: on a sudden he calls Jane to him, goes up to my bedroom, — takes away all my razors; has them now with him, sealed up! — It is a fact, I am now four days without shaving, and in very questionable mood about it, — tho' I do save half an hour daily by the job; and see no way out, except to let the hirsute process go on! — . . . Your affectionate Brother, T, Carlyle. LETTER 267 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 10 November, 1854. My dear Sister — . . . The day before yesterday I went to Windsor; for the sake of innumerable Portraits, Engravings, Miniatures, etc., which I had got access to there. It is some twenty and odd miles off: one of the beautifuUest Palaces, — for situation, etc., much the beautifuUest I ever saw. Built on a short steep hill (high for those parts, and beautifully clothed); commanding an immense plain, the richest in the Island; with oak forests, with the River, with etc., etc., to all lengths. I regarded little or nothing of that; but proceeded straight to my Print rooms, where a Mr. Glover, the "Librari- an" of the place, was extremely kind to me, and I saw really a great many things that may be useful in my operations; and had four diligent and goodish hours out of a day. I mean to go back when the weather is brighter (for Pictures and old eyes), and when the "Court" is not there. Towards four 168 New Letters of o'clock, while I was busy with a hundred Prints of Frederick, there came a soft step to the door; I did not look up till Glover said, "Prince Albert!" — and there in truth was the handsome young gentleman, very jolly and handsome in his loose greyish clothes, standing in the door; not advancing till I bowed. His figure and general face were well known to me, well-built figure of near my own height, florid blond face (with fair hair) ; but the eyes were much better than I had fancied; a pair of strong steady eyes, with a good healthy briskness in them. He was civility itself, and in a fine simple fashion: a sensible man withal. We talked first of Frederick's Portraits; then went, by a step or two, into the Saxon genealogy line, into the AVartburg, Coburg, Luther, Frederick the Wise (that is the Prince who caught up Luther, put him safe into the Wartburg; he is Ancestor of Albert) ; we had there abundant scope of talk, and went on very well, the Prince shewing me a Portrait he had copied of "Frederick the Wise" (not ill done), telling of a Luther Autograph he had (from Coburg, and a joke appended to the getting of it there), — when a domestic glided in upon us, murmured something, of which I heard, "gone out to the Terrace!" (Queen out, wants you, — he had been in Town all morning) — ^whereupon, in a minute or two, our Dialogue wind- ing itself up in some tolerable way. Prince Albert (prince of courtesy) bowed himself out, back foremost and with some in- distinct mention of "your Works," which did not much affect me; and so ended our interview. I had had an indistinct questionable anticipation of some such thing all day; but thought too I was safe, having met his carriage on the railway as I came. However, it was managed as you hear; and I was not ill pleased with it, nor had any reason, — but well pleased Thomas Carhjle 169 to have it over as you may fancy. Not a word more, dear Jean. Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 268 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 24 November, 1854. Dear Jean—. . . Jane is going down to The Grange on the 8th of next month; I do not go then, nor for certain at all: I have continued to refuse, as inoffensively as I could, being flatly determined that I could not and would not go at that particular time.* Ah me!— Till the 2nd of January there- fore I am alone here ; doing whatever I can (which is sorrowfully little) towards getting work forward: what other things have I left for me? On the 2nd of January, — we shall see! . . . I bore away, however, with a respectable obstinacy: it some- times seems to me the heavy wheels are going round at last, and the big waggon making some way thro' its sea of quag- mires: this, when you have stood many months tugging des- perately at the chains without the least result (except breaking them now and then) is a consolation, a certain glimmer of con- solation, under every thing! But I must not brag yet; nor will I. . , . All the world is in disconsolation here about Sebas- topol: indeed it seems to me one of the wretchedest things I over looked at, taken altogether; but only what is to bo looked for, being wholly the work of the fooh among us, not of the wise. I suppose they must take Sebastopol, if they should * So near the anniversary of his mother's death. 170 Nexo Letters of all die for it;— and it will avail them nothing (I fear) when taken. . . . T. Carlyle. LETTER 269 To Mrs. AitkeUy Dumfries. Chelsea, 25th December, 1854. Dear Jean—. . . Alas, I remember too well where we were last year this time, and what we were doing and witness- ing! All yesterday the scene stood before me as if I were still in it; indeed it is no day out of my mind: and I find in general it has made an irreparable breach in my existence,— and strange- ly left me with a feeling of being stript hare in this world. To you who have children of your own, and are so many years younger, the breach will gradually heal itself: but for me, I feel constantly as if I were henceforth irrecoverably an impover- ished man. Our dear and good and brave old Mother! Yet it is not a sorrow to me, it is a stern comfort rather, that she is now out of the wind and wet, from which none of us could screen her loved existence. From her grave she yet calls to us. Struggle faithfully piously, and you also may reach a happy haven!— God is great, God is also good. We will say no more on this sad subject. It continues very sad to me, and very stern and grand and strange. . . . I have got a Pamphlet from Glasgow, about that Lord Rector Election which was going on while you were there. It contains (I was surprised to find) fierce denunciations of my Heterodoxy,— tho' itself very favourable, and in the way of condenming these. "Can do thee naither ill na' good," all that! In fact, tho' I find all the rahhle of Literature, or a greater Thomas Carlyle 171 part of the rabble, are set against me, there is a steady, satis- factory, and to myself surprising progress with the small better class in all kinds. Which, I find on the whole, is quite as it ought to be. Let us hold on therefore; and never mind the village curs, nor the muddy ways and other difficulties. . . . T. Carlyle. LETTER 270 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 1st January, 1855. My dear Sister — ^This is Newyear's Day, according to our mode of reckoning; and I cannot forbear to send you expressly the "wishes of the season"; and will beg you to accept the inclosed small Memorial of me, — changing it into any little Gift for yourself that maj' promise to be useful, and bring me into your thoughts now and then. You can get the couple of coins yourself (if you prefer that way) ; and may believe there is no truer wish circulating at the present season than the one I send you for "a good Newyear," if there be any such thing going under the sun just now! — Nay, why do I murmur! There is always a good year for him that will stir himself valiantly in it. Let us stand to our tasks, then; and know that a Task- master is above us, whose eye, and purpose with us, cannot err. The WesimiJister Review comes to-day (or rather along with this, and not till to-morrow, for it is now dark, and a blowy night): you will find in it a little Article by me called Prinzen- raub (i. e., "Prince rob" or the stealing of Princes); that you can read, James and you, tho' it will not do much for you: it is the only thing I have printed this long while. The rest of 172 New Letters of the Number I consider to be very bad; Fraser is so utterly dishwashy it really seems not worth sending; but will come too, I suppose, by and by. — . . . T. Carlylb. LETTER 271 To Alexander Carlyle, Br ant ford, Canada. Chelsea, 8 April, 1855. My dear Alick — To-day I send you a small mournful Gift; which, I need not doubt, will be very precious to you. You remember perhaps I got a Portrait * done, at Dumfries, before you went away, of One who has now left us, and who is forever dear to us all. I have now had a few Copies taken of it; and am sending one to each of the Seve7i of us who still remain (no other gets a Copy, for there were only seven, "seven good ones," bargained for); and here inclosed is your share. Having one still over, not upon a card, I put it in; you may give it to Tom, who used to write to his good Grandmother, and was well loved by her: he will perhaps remember her when we also are all away. The Likeness seems to me rather good. The poor fellow that did the Oil-Picture, who was once a Mill-boy at Glenessland, took to drinking, etc., after his success as a Painter at Dumfries, and is now dead himself. The Copies are of the kind called Photograph (done by the sunlight, and a certain apparatus they have) : it is easy to take as many copies as one likes; but I wanted only seven. — You can keep yours in the cover w^hcre it is, till you get a little frame for it. I have sent one to Jenny by this same mail across the Ocean; * Of his mother. See ante, i. 273. Thomas Carlyle 173 and that is the last I had. Enough said now on that small subject, which will give rise to many thoughts in you, very sad but not unblessed, I trust. It seems a long while since we got any full stock of news from the Bield in Canada. I think a Letter to Graham was the last direct thing. We understand you to be toiling along in the old course of labour and exertion; and that you do not at all forget us any more than we you, in our silent multifarious reflexions and anxieties. I grow yearly more silent; write, in the Letter way, less and less, for a long time back, — in fact no Letter at all that has not a clear claim to be written. The swift flight of Time; the inevitable nearness of the Evening and Night "wherein no man can work," admonishes me continually to do what I can while it is Day. The frivolous noise of men about me is rather an oppression to me than otherwise; and I much prefer my silent upper room here, — and go 'puddling on, accomplishing little, almost nothing (for it is terribly unhandy work I am upon, and no end to the quantity of it), yet still refusing to give up. — If I live I shall get done with it; and then, it is one of my dreams that I shall perhaps have a sail to America, and see my true Brother again before all end! Well do I remember always the pair of little brown fists (probably fifty years ago now) which I noticed suddenly interfere in some battle I was fighting on the Eccle- fechan streets, one summer afternoon,* — a memorable and pretty little phenomenon to me! . . . God bless you all. T. Carlyle. * Carlyle whilr; strugRling against superior numbers, suddenly be- came aware that a reinforcement had arrived in the shape of his brother Alick, who " with little fists like walnuts rained rapid blows on the enemy," aod helped to turn the tide of battle. 174 New Letters of LETTER 272 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 19 August, 1855. Dear Sister — I have been in the country for a ten days, as perhaps you know: . . , My place of rustication was Suffolk; some eight or nine miles nearer you than Ipswich, which country-town is 70 or 80 miles off this; on a tide-river called the Orwell, perhaps ten miles from the real sea or German ocean; — much about my own distance from said sea, for I lay northward of Ipswich, and within reach of another "tidal river," in which, at high water, there was a tolerable salt-water bathe to be had. I went to one Fitz- Gerald,* an excellent modest and affectionate character, one of my oldest acquaintances in this part of the earth : he is younger son of a gentleman of very great wealth who came to bank- ruptcy, nevertheless, with such result as you may fancy: this FitzGerald of mine, who is only just now, after seven or eight years after his Father's death, getting his affairs winded out into clear- ness and effectuality (he will still have plenty of money for a man of his simple ways), has been living, for some time past, with an old farmer of his Father's in a kind of old villa, now used as farm house; the people greatly attached to him, and of honest rational character, they and their house likely to suit me, as FitzGerald asserted, inviting me thither. Which indeed proved to be true; for I liked the goodwife and goodman extremely well after their fashion, and found the country and the farm house much to my taste, — could I have been but "well let alone "(according ♦Edward FitzGerald. TJiomas Carlyle 175 to the bargain) ; but in that we did rather fail ! Alas that is a thing nowhere to be fallen in with, — I think, never more, for me especially; such is often the sad sigh of my soul in late times! That country is now all golden with excellent wheat, plenty of green lanes too, endless country roads and paths, with trees everywhere framing the gold picture in luxuriant green: a country not unlike Scotland in its fruitfullest places, except that there are never mountains in the distance, and that the streams are few, and all sedgy, silent, and we must say rather ugly. I walked greatly, bathed every day, was driven to the sea-shore, to Aldborough, to Orford; staid three days with the Poet Crabbe's son (a very excellent old Parson of those parts, who took much to me) : in short I had no rest to the sole of my foot, — none or too little; — and was willing enough to get away from it yesterday, exactly on the eleventh day, for the chance of such quiet as home might afford. . . . LETTER 273 To Alexander Carlyle, Brantford, Canada. Chelsea, 29 August, 1855. My dear Brother — Your Letter came to us a week or two ago; very welcome, as all tidings from you always are. I read it; sent it on to Jack (who was then at Scotsbrig), by whom it was communicated to the rest of the kindred. You must not neglect to write to us, to me in particular; so long as I live in this world, you may be always sure of one fellow-creature to whom nothing that befalls you can bo indifferent. We are all getting old now, T oldest; and must try to keep one another company, to cheer, and participate with one another, the best 170 New Letters of we can, I must say, looking back, my Brothers, and you as the nearest to me,* have been a great comfort to my pilgrim- age, one way and another. Nothing that has been given me in life deserves better to be reckoned as a blessing and possession. For which let us piously thank the All-bountiful ! Many House- holds, of less apparent capability, have gained far more promo- tion in this rather scurvy epoch of the world than our Father's Household has : of which we will make no complaint at all ; nay probably we should take that also as a blessing, and silently thank God for it (really and truly so) : — but in all our ups and downs we have loved one another; yes; and surely all the yellow metal of California and all the foul puffs of Newspapers now going, are but poor "wealth" in comparison to that! — I often think of these things but perhaps it is good to know them, with- out speaking much about them. . . . Jack, with his two boys f in vacation from School, went to Scotsbrig in July or June; he has been there ever since, . . . He is far the happiest of the family I do believe ; and it would be so easy for a grumbling discontented unhealthy nature to pick holes without end in the life he has had. I often look at him, poor fellow, and his head (six years younger than mine) now old and utterly grey, with a tender and wondering feeling. He has a great deal of superior intellect running waste, and yielding no adequate crop at all; that is the worst of it; but that is nothing like the worst of bads in this world, among the outcomes of human lives! He and I never have any cross word now; for I have long since recognized that rebuking of him is of no use ; that Nature is stronger than any argument against Nature, and that my * Nearest in age: Alexander Carlyle was born 4th August, 1797. t Dr. Carlyle's stepsons. Thomas Carlyle 177 poor Jack is even made so, and might have been infinitely worse made. ''Ungrateful, how could he have been better made!" I often say to myself. He is a truly loving Brother; and from me has forgiven innumerable provocations, and superficial irrita- tions from an old date! . . . LETTER 274 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 27 November, 1855. Dear Brother — I would at once send you Lewes's Goethe^ tho' I know not whether so much weight (probably 4 lbs. or so^ were worth carrying so far: but Tait has it on loan; ... so that we must wait till his turn is past. The Book is decidedly good as such Books go, but by no means very interesting if you have a strict taste in Books. Sir Colin Campbell was, or still is, here; home from the Crimea in deep discontent with the course of things there; Anthony Sterling was to make an auction of their camp furni- ture, and follow "in ten days." Meanwhile the Queen's Majesty and others have persuaded Campbell to go back: Sterling, just when the auction is over, will find that he must buy again, and stay where he is. I wish they had both come home: I should then have been pretty nearly free from care about that brutish Turk-war business, and willing to let it go as it liked. . . . Ruskin was here the other night; — a bottle of beauti- ful soda-walcr, — something like Rait of old times, only with an intellect of tenfold vivacity. Ho is very pleasant company now and then. A singular element, — very curious to look upon, — Vol. II.— 12 178 New Letters of in the present puddle of the intellectual artistic so-called "world" in these parts at this date. — . . . LETTER 275 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 5th May, 1856. Dear Jean— . . . When clear of dinnering (which I exert my best industry to be, but am led into it once a fortnight or so, do what I may), there is some capability of work in me again, and I stagger forward with less of despair. Nay I believe I shall have to get to Press this very Autumn (or sooner) with the First Half of my wretched Book : once fas- tened to the Printer, I shall have to sort these accumulated rub- bish mounds, and cut my way thro' them better or worse: I see little chance of doing it so well otherwise as on brief compulsion of that kind. Two volumes could perhaps be done in that way; then a little pause for other two (or one), which ends it! . . . There is also going to be another work: an Edition (cheaper if not exactly "cheap") of all my bits of Works; 14 or 15 vol- umes, 6/- per volume, and very respectable paper and print. This is very welcome for several reasons, — first of all that it will yield a little fraction of payment again (more than I ever got before perhaps) after so long an interval. For the rest it will not create much fash to me, — at least not if I can get a right hand, to correct the Press, to make Indexes, etc., and steadily oversee the thing; which I by all means endeavour to do. — All this is of the nature of good luck comparatively. The Book- seller came down with it the other morning under that char- acter; I believe he was afraid I might take my new Book past Thomas Carlyle 179 him, which he would not have Uked. A stingy, close-fisted kind of fellow; but long headed, skilful in his craft; and, so far as I know, exact to his bargain. I shall probably continue with him after all, — "keeping an eye upon my partner," as the Irish gentleman did when dancing with a Bear. . . . T. Garlyle. LETTER 276 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfriesl Chelsea, 20 June, 1856. My dear Sister — ... I have got a small bit of my Book actually done, and laid into the drawer, waiting for more which lies in heaps ahead of me, in the wnrid * state. I am serious- ly purposing to go to Press with it in Winter, and let the Printer chase me through it. Were I in average health of body, this would do: — I must try to get into the old poor average! The day before yesterday I settled the bargain with Chapman, the Bookseller, about the ''Carlyle's Works," which is coming out: this will actually make its appearance some time about October, and go on month by month for sixteen months; — I have got a kind volunteer (young Barrister man, called Gilchrist, much an admirer, etc.), who will take the trouble of all that off my hands: so that, were it once fairly started, I hope to have little farther to do with it; but to be at leisure to go on with the Frederick (the Printer chasing me) as if I had nothing else to mind. — A busy Winter coming for me, if all go as I could wish and intend. . . . ♦ Unsorted. 180 New Letters of LETTER 277 To Dr. Carlyle, Paris. The Gill, 27 August, 1856. My dear Brother — . . . We are all well, to the common degree or better, in these parts. I have been here now into the fifth week; following out my Program; was away only three nights at Scotsbrig (bad weather, and fash to me in consequence), and one afternoon over to Dumfries (to tea and back again): the nearest approach to perfect silence, solitude, and unadulter- ated country regimen, I have almost ever made for so long. Mary has been kindness itself to me, as well as all the Household big and little; Margaret is one of the cleverest lasses that ever waited on me: I have had a horse daily from Jamie of Scots- brig; item a gig and horse (tho' seldom using that); I bathed so long as weather and tide served : — I have seldom been more com- fortable in late years, and as to lodgings, etc., I never was better served in any house whatever. I brought some work with me too; which has been a constant resource, and useful otherwise, — tho' I am now pretty much at the end of my tether in that re- spect. We found your key at Scotsbrig; I read the whole of Suetonius while lying there in the wet days (a very curious Book for one after 30 years of abeyance) : your Kbhler (Reichs His- torie) with two portabilities of my own are my whole Historical Library here : I also read in a volume of your Plato at nights, — but find him nearly insupportable, with definitioning and hair- spliting, tho' there is a fine high vein too in him, of magnanimous Thomas Carlyle ISI perception, humour, godlike indignation veiled in silence, and other rare gifts. . . . Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. Thanks for the Vevay Epitaphs, which I keep carefully. I had got Brough ton's from one Vinet, by Erskine's means; — Ludlow's too I had seen somewhere, but forgotten. — Tait has done a fine photograph* of Frederick II. and his Sister; — he is off, I believe, or going. LETTER 278 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant ford, Canadal Scotsbrig, 3 October, 1856. My dear Brother — ... In the beginning of Septem- ber I had unwillingly to take a long journey into the Highlands to visit "the Ashburtons"; (kind English friends of mine) who were "deer-stalking" there. Far away beyond Aberdeen and Inverness, amid surly black mountains, solitary crags and bogs, — a country thrice as wild as Craigenputtock, and otherwise of the same kind of character. To me not beautiful at all. But such things have a charm for idle English people with more money than enough! Nothing can be madder than the doings of English grandees at present, in those Highland parts, in pursuit of deer. — In fine I had a very laborious journey to and from; and was not disappointed in the want of either pleasure or profit in that part of my Tour: however, I had to go; and now it is done, and no mischief sticking by it, — perhaps a little health * Of the picture of Fricdrich and Wilhclmina entitled "The Little Druminer," by Pcsne. 182 New Letters of gained by tlic endless locomotion, and confusion of weather and other things.— I got hither the night before last; found Jane waiting me, all well with the rest here and hereabouts; and to-morrow morning we set off for London again, to arrive that same night, and end these wanderings. . . . At Scotsbrig, as you may conceive, I found a great sad want and change, of which I could say nothing: Jamie and I went one Sunday to the Ecclefechan Church-yard (which is now all walled in, and locked till you get the key);— there, yes there they all lay; Father, Mother, and Margaret's grave between them : silent now, they that were wont to be so speechful when one came among them after an absence. I stood silent, with bared head, as in the sacredest place of all the world, for a few moments; and I daresay tears again wetted these hard eyes which are now unused to weeping. All silent, sheltered for ever from all the storms and hardships;— your little Bairns lie near on the right; — and the big sky is high over-head, and the Maker of all reigns there, and here. One need not much mourn the lot of the Dead: it will, in all events, be our own so very soon.— I did not return to that sacred spot; but if I come again to this country, I will visit it. No shrine can be so holy to a man. Everything is now changed and changing with furious ra- pidity in this country, — principally owing to the railways, I think. A great increase of luxury is coming over all ranks; prices of everything very nearly doubled (13d. per lb. for butter, Id. each for eggs, and all in proportion), so that farmers, with a lease, prosper amazingly. Much draining goes on too; nobody but Irishmen to do it. Jamie says, porridge will be out of use altogether in twenty years. — I cannot say I love these aspects of things; but they are not to be altered. . . . Thomas Carlyle 183 LETTER 279 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 28 October, 1856. My dear Sister — Here was a heavy bit of news unexpectedly awaiting me when I came down stairs to-night! Your Letter is the very image of a Mother's Tears: woe, affection, resignation, grief without measure. Alas, alas. I myself could almost weep (tho' long unused to it), to think of your bit bonnie Bairn that was smiling in my face last Autumn, — like a little human flower, new-sprung on the bosom of Eternity, — and is now cropt away on a sudden from you. Forever, in this world; but he is gone to Eternity again and to his Maker; and there we shall all of us very shortly be, as he is. God is great; God also is good. I see you are nobly resigned to a Higher Will, as it beseems us all; and the tears you weep are soft and pious. God grant you his consolations, my dear Sister; and may this heavy stroke (as our dear Mother would have said) he sanctified to all concerned, — to you who feel it more than all. A mother's love; a mother's sorrow; there is not in the scene of things any feeling comparable to it, I believe; — and if pious and wise, that is a blessed grief withal. — Write me a word, so soon as you can, and tell me that your distress is getting settled into its place, — as all things have to do in this stern world. I have had no health since I quitted Annandalc; that day of Express-Train and then the reeky tumult of this Babylon, seemed to demolish all the former account. Yet I somehow at bottom, have felt always as if I were considerably better. 184 New Letters of And it is certain I am getting into the very thick of my work, — in a humour grimmer and sadder than I ever knew before. I have got a Clerk (to do writing for me, etc., etc., who answers well), antl this afternoon I got a Horse and tried it. These two articles and the ivay I got them, one after the other, seem to me almost like monitions of Providence, and a token that I shall get my sad task accomplished. — God's blessing be on you, my dear Sister. I add no more. Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 280 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Chelsea, 11th May, 1857. Dear Sister — . . . My work is getting on laboriously and in general ill: I am going to Press, however, this xoeek, will do Two volumes (half the work) off my hands; then wait to gather strength for the other Two, — or leave them lying altogether, if I be not stronger. Never was such an undoahle work cut out for me; and never was I in such case for doing any work whatever. But if we hold up till this time twelve- month; if we can; — and we must be canny! an immense rubbish mound will be rolled off one's poor down-broken old heart! — The Death of Lady Ashburton, which you will see noted in the Examiner, was altogether unlooked for by me, tho' a great deal of confused rumour, and direct tidings too, circulated round us, all winter, on the illness which came on at Nice. I parted from her in October; fancying she and a group of Thomas Carlyle 185 friends she had gathered were to have the pleasantest winter, and it ends in this wa)^ The event comes heavy upon me and stretches far and wide as I consider it. A lesson sent me and truly a very sad one; and a loss in several respects such as I need not hope to replace. Since our dear Mother's death there has nothing like it come. "God sanctify it to those con- cerned!" as my Mother would have prayed; — the one wise prayer. — . . . T. Carlyle. LETTER 281 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant ford, Canada. Chelsea, 13th August, 1857. My dear Brother — . . . Ever since I wrote last year from Scotsbrig, I have been working like a slave; day and night involved in confusions, of the most unmanageable nature; — the only limit, not to break myself down altogether, in which case there would be no hope of the job. Never in my life had I a thing so difficult to do; and I am fallen old, and feckless in comparison; hope much dead in me, especially; not fit to handle such huge mountains of rubbish; — yet dreadfully unwilling to be beaten by them, too! Being withal in the most evident state of special ill-health, ^uorse than even naturally belongs to me at this age, I decided on getting a Horse again; have had a Horse since November last; and go riding daily as the sun; which docs (I sometimes think) begin to tell on me at last, or at least prevents me getting still worse: — and so I fight along; and hope fairly to finish this frightful job too; after which I contemplate taking a rest for the remainder of my life, or mainly "a rest." This is a fine brisk Horse I have got (now 186 New Letters of into my ihird thousand of miles, riding upon him "after health"):* how often did I think of my poor true Alick who used to buy me horses, ami do all things for me, in old days! The poor Cuilvg^ [cropt-ears] which you bought for £2 10/, at Mainhill (do you remember it?), I often think, almost like to cry, of that poor Snaffle; and would not give the memory of it for the price of the best Horse now alive! My dear Brother, I know that your atTection for me lasts and has lasted, faithful to the end: you need not doubt that mine towards you is, was, and will be the like. That is a mournful but blessed possession for us both, wherever we be in this world. — But the best news of myself I must give too; namely that I am fairly printing that unspeakable New Book; 150 pages of it off my hands forevermore; and if I can hold out wisely I shall verily do it, and get rid of it one day, in a not discredit- able manner! For years back I have had hardly any other wish left. About this time twelve-month, if I can go on neither too fast nor too slow, I expect to be rid of Three Volumes; — there will remain then, after such pause as I like, other Two Volumes, and not the tenth part of the difficulty in them. Steady, therefore; ''steady!" as the drill Serjeants say. My poor Jane took a cold last year, two or three weeks after returning home with me; and could not get out of it again, — ill and weak in a high degree, often confined to bed (never out of doors at all), dreadfully off for want of sleep especially, — all winter thro', in my hurries this was (to her, still more than to myself perhaps) a great aggravation. Not till the end of May could she get out again; and still she continued far below par in strength, — and I fear, continues so in some sensible ♦This wa3 the high-bred and beautiful "Fritz." Thomas Carlyle 187 degree. There appeared to me to be nothing specifically wrong with her; merely the crisis or summing up of a long tract of sickly sleeplessness, etc., etc., which was come to a head: per- haps she might be a thought better even, could she once gather strength again. About a month ago, being pressingly invited by the old Misses Donaldson (whom perhaps you remember), she went to Haddington; thence into Fife (to her Cousin Walter of Liverpool, who is a Clergyman there). . . . She is, this very day I think, coming over to Edinburgh to her Aunts. . . . After a week with her Aunts she goes back to Hadding- ton, — thence home to me; I should say about the beginning of September. She does not appear to have gained much in strength, poor little Soul; but we hope she will find herself really profited (as has sometimes been my own case) on getting into her old place, and summing the whole up, as then happens. I used to liken myself to an old garron whose harness, collar, etc., had worn it into "raws": going .300 miles off, you get into new harness; which likewise hurts you: but on resuming the old harness, the "raws" are found somewhat mended never- theless! — . . . Dumfriesshire and all places are what they call "prospering" at present: many circumstances (perhaps the California Gold, I privately reckon, most of all) have given such an explosive impulse to " trade," all corners of this Country are testifying it. To me it is by no means exclusively beautiful, this enormous effulgence of wealth, and with it of luxury and gaudery and folly, on the part not of the wise men of the com- munity (for it is not they that the "wealth" mainly falls on): — it is on the contrary inexpressibly ugly to me when I reflect on it; and I perceive that the Devil is in it, he in fact and no iss New Letters of Saint! However, that is the course at present; all things ris- ing in price; all manner of gamblers getting "fortunes," etc., etc.: and by and by there will be a very hurhly account to settle indeed! I often think, for myself and you, we are better not concerned in it: T just above the fear of poverty and nothing more; you ditto, with your own bit of the Earth's surface se- cured for a field of honest industry to your children and you. There are more secrets in Heaven's ways of doing "kindness" to men than they arc always aware of! . . . There was an account from Tom (I think to the Doctor in Winter last) about an adventure in Maple Sugar with his Brother-in-law, which I read with much interest. The two rugged sons of Nature reading Homer in the Bush, while their pans boiled, made an admirable picture to me, — full of health, and rugged honest life and worth. . . . A Letter when you can. Your afTectionate Brother, T. Carlylb. LETTER 282 To W. Lattimer,'^ Carlisle'. Chelsea, 3 March, 1858. Dear Sir — In addition to all other hindrances, I am at present, and for many months back, overwhelmingly busy; every moment of my time occupied. Nor indeed, with such ignorance of the details as is inevitable to me, could it well be advantageous to interfere with advice. A child learns from his father what view of the universe (and also what practice * See ante, p. 158, n. Thomas Carlyle 189 in it) the father ae^aally has, not pretends to have; and I should say, it was one of the clearest and most comprehensive duties, on the part of the father, to proceed loyally with his child, — loyally, and with his best wisdom and caution, — in this as in other matters. There is a Book by Jean Paul, called " Levana, or The Doc- trine of Education" (some such title); a small volume, which has been translated; which I should judge it might be worth your while to procure and study: you will find a great many fruitful ideas in it, in reference to the task you have on hand. In Wilhelm ^leister's Travels (sequel to Wilhelm's Apprejitice- ship) by Goethe, there is, by intimation rather than by direct lecture on the subject, by far the best account that I have ever known to be written, especially in modern times, of that high matter. I recommend this, on all hands, for many years past, as the Book of Books on Education of the young soul in these broken distracted times of ours; but do not find that almost any English person yet reads it with understanding. Believe me, Yours with many kind regards, T. Carlyle. Chelsea [Spring, 1858]. In answer to Mr. Lattimer,— in great haste,— T. C. 1. Forms of devotion, "Infant Prayers" and other, I should judge, might have a very good effect, on one proviso (but this a rigorous one), That the father himself completely believed in them. If the father do not entirely believe, if he even un- consciously doubts, still more if he do not even know what 190 New Letters of belief is, the child will at once more or less clearly feel this; and the effects will be had, and that only,— perhaps to a degree little suspected at present. 2. That we arc all "bound to speak the truth" to our fellow creatures; and the divine importance of doing that is plain enough by this time, or ought to be. But the faithful man here too will keep his eye upon the concrete fact as well as upon the rubric, or letter of the law; and will know that it is with the ]act that he has got to deal. To set up "cases of conscience," and puzzle over them, will not much help him. The permitted limits of simulation, who could undertake to define them? We do not inform the fox, inquiring of us, where our poultry lodges. All men are entitled at least to keep their thoughts dumb when they please. Answers that have that effect are a refuge possible in most cases. — And for the rest there is a far deeper veracity than that of the tongue; which it is infinitely important to acquire, and which I have often noticed superstitious professors of tongue-truth to be greatly destitute of. 3. All nations that have risen beyond the rank of Samoyedes have had laws, which they kept as sacred, in reference to matters sexual: and generally the higher they have risen in the scale of nations, the nobler and more imperative have such laws been. Qontinence (in this and in all things) is the per- petual duty of all men and all women. Chastity, in the true form of it, is probably the most beautiful of virtues, — essential to all noble creatures. A lewd being has fatally lost the aroma of his existence; and become caput mortuum in regard to the higher functions of intelligence and morality. No frightfuller feature of these ruined generations presents itself than that of Thomas Carlyle 191 their utter corruption in this respect. — Alas, what can a parent do in such times? He will need all his wisdom to do even a little for his child in that important particular. For injudicious meddling is capable, I believe, of frightfully worsening the affair. LETTER 283 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Addiscombe Farm, Croydon, 5 May, 1858. My dear Sister — We are out here for a few days of country air and quiet, which it was thought Jane would profit by, and I too; we came on Monday and are doing very well hitherto; — are to stay till Monday next, and then take ourselves home again. I have my horse with me; and my principal utility here is to go riding with the hospitable Lord of the place, who is an excellent horseman but prefers company to solitude in his excursions thro' these beautiful neighbourhoods. Three hours of it a day we have; the rest of my time goes to idle reading, lounging, smoking, — with perhaps a Proofsheet which had rather not wait till my return home. We are printing along without abatement of speed; and I still hope to see the end of it about the end of this month or shortly after. Which will be a welcome event indeed! — The country is beautiful as May itself; this (about noon now) is one of the finest days I ever saw: all is beautiful here and around, — and all is very sad to me and others! It was yesterday gone a year that the presiding Genius of it was called suddenly away; and left a blank that will never be filled up to those that staid behind! It is the universal lot of man: 192 ATew; Letters of what can we say? At the years T liave now got to, the world is by necessity becoming a very vacant place. . . . Good bye, dear Jean, Thy affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 284 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrigl Chelsea, 12 June, 1858. Dear Brother — . . . My Book is at last actually done ; * — last revise (sheet and half), a mere formal matter, will probably come to-night; I put the dates upon the margin of it, see if Chorley has any remarks (Chorley has read all the final proofs, and is occasionally of profit in his lynx-eyed way): that over, we are fairly at the "end of Volume II." ; — and anything farther can be settled, from any distance I may be at, by aid of Rowland Hill. The question now is, How to get my Horse carried into Annandale quam -primumf . . . Jane is a little better than when I wrote last; but still as weak as need be. She does not yet decide positively on anything: but, I think, will be likely to follow me to Scot- land, in not many weeks. There is small temptation to stay here, in our circumstances. The blessing of clean air to breathe, and some kind of silence to live in, are not attainable, however many others arc. ... A male young friend with an accor- dion and open window still nearer, is (happily for me, not for him poor soul) fallen sick and therefore silent. A "retired * That is, the first two volumes of it. Thomas Carlyle 193 cheesemonger," too, has his dog chained out busy barking; hens that have laid are proclaiming the fact all round; and a dim tremendous sound of advancing Organ-grinders is occasion- ally audible in the distance! — '"Dizzy" too, I suppose, is get- ting ready his eloquence for the evening: that, if one reflect, is the appropriate accompaniment to all these anarchic discords and delirious misarrangements. — . . , LETTER 285 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant ford, Canada' Chelsea, 15 October, 1858. My dear Brother — . . . I am now here after unusual wanderings; one job (or half of a job) done, the other not begun: before beginning, I will have a word with dear old Alick, faithful Brother Wayfarer with me on this Earth almost from my first starting, and whose unalterable love, responded to by my own, is one of the sacred treasures I have still left here. These two volumes of Frederick were by far the hardest job ever laid upon me, even in the best of my strength; often enough I thought, within the last two years I have been pulling and toiling, that I should never get thro' it. I had to ride very diligently, and be canny too; or that sad prophecy might have come true! However they are now done, those two volumes (and people are reading them, with much noise which I take care to hear little of);— and there arc still two more to be done (perhaps two years of hard work, if I still live); but they are not nearly so diflicult, I expect, as the former were, if I can only keep my strength so long!— I got out of these Vol II.— 13 194 New Letters of first Two Volumes in June last, or mainly out of them, for my share: Init the Bookseller did not publish them till quite lately, the bcguining of this month. . . . The instant I had got done with my part of the Task, I ran off for Annandale; end of June last; — quite worn to the ground, and in very great need of rest. John, with some of his boys, was at Scotsbrig; otherwise perhaps I had aimed thither: as it was, I made for the Gill; and continued about two months there, as idle as a dry bone; sauntering about in strict silence, riding a little, reading a little, — peaceable, but in the natural sadness of humour all the time. Jane whom I am sorry to say was in very feeble state, — as she is generally, poor thing, for the last two years; — . . . [letter torn]; came to Scotland about the end of August (just when I was leaving; so badly had we ordered it); I now have her here safe again, a little stronger against the winter storms that are coming. . . . A man of 63 has a strange feeling when visiting his native coun- try, — as of a ghost coming back to the Earth ! I rode one day, market day, thro' Annan; did not see one soul whose face was known to me; only the old stone walls were familiar; and strangers gazed at my "wide-awake hat" and old grey beard, — asking, "Who's that?"— . . . May God bless you ever, you and yours, T. Carlylb. LETTER 286 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotshrig. Chelsea, 29 January, 1859. My dear Brother — Here are two small Books, for the Post along with this : one the Baron Munchausen (which I never read Thomas Carlyle 195 in uiy life till the other morning) you will give to John [Carlyle, Scotsbrig], with my compliments, and wishes of "much good may it do him": — young creatures did all read it, in my time; and it is a Book that will survive many! I wanted, in fine, to know what it was. An English production I now find ; date a little before mv birth; — who the Author? Should have been known; but is not. Intended as a satire upon Bruce, I per- ceive; and upon things in general. The other Book Larkin also picked up for me: I have in MS. an English Translation of it all my own, should it ever be of use to me. You will find it worth reading, — one of the most fla- grant gentleman that Zimmermann,* just going off into ultimate real insanity when he did this feat, and that of the still madder Fragments on Frederick which followed. I haggle along here, in my old way; nmch like a man doomed to cobble shoes (the dreariest of enterprises, hope nowhere in it, except the hope of getting done with it): my progress is ex- ceedingly below my intentions; in fact, is exceedingly bad; but I still persevere, tho' falling on my nose so often. Gee ho! Chick-Chick!— . . . You can keep the Zimmermann for me, no hurry about it. I have got another superfluous Book (duplicate or nearly so) of Anecdotes about Frederick; — seems to have been done at Liverpool: a Gift Book " to William Watt," my copy; — can it be your Boys' Grandfather! . . . ♦Author of "Solitude." 196 New Letters of LETTER 287 To Dr. Carlyle, Scotsbrig. Chelsea, 4 May, 1859. My dear Brother — . . . Did not I send you Mill's Es- say on Liberty? I meant it; and do not now find the Book here. In my life I never read a serious, ingenious, clear, logical Essay with more perfect and profound dissent from the basis it rests upon, and most of the conclusions it arrives at. Very strange to me indeed; a curious monition to me what a world we are in! As if it were a sin to control, or coerce into better methods, human swine in any way; — as if the greater and the more uni- versal the "liberty" of human creatures of the Sioine genus, the more fatal all-destructive and intolerable were not the "slav- ery" the few human creatures of the Man genus are thereby thrown into, and kept groaning powerless under. Ach Gott im Himmel! . . . Adieu, in hot haste, T. Carlyle. LETTER 288 To Dr. Carlyle, Edinburgh. Humbie,* 30 June, 1859. My dear Brother — Jane got across safely on Tuesday; met by me at Burntisland towards 4; all right, — tho' none of the Letters had gone its appointed course any more than yours. We had barely got in here, when the rain, heartily for the second * A farmhouse near Aberdour on. the Forth opposite Edinburgh. Thomas Carlyle 19 7 time, began its beneficent wetting. Jane has not been over the threshold at ajl since, though the weather to-day and yesterday afternoon, is at its very finest. She is very feeble, indisposed to locomotion, ankles so weak she can walk little; and I have not yet been able to rake up the least vestige of "side-saddle," not to speak of further vehiculatory apparatus. I rode to Kirk- caldy yesterday in quest; found Peter Swan prosperous and glad to see me, but in the saddlers' shops or otherwise, not even a hope of what I was wanting.* . . . LETTER 289 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries. Humbie, 10 July, 1859. Dear Jean — I am bound to put an end to your anxieties about the Cuddy adventure; f if I carry this to the Post to-night, which can be done by my last outrake now at hand, I believe you will get it to-morrow. Know then that the Cuddy thus far seems to be a perfect success; and does promise, so far as two separate performances will indicate, to be a very great achievement in this household. Something like a pair of tegs to the poor Missus; for really there seemed no outlook of locomotion for her otherwise! The boy went across on Friday; and returned successfully * In a day or two a frto is well-nigh unattainable. . . . Yesternight especially was one of long misery, — tho' I ha] Ihc Scottish Covenanters. 270 Nciv Letters of remember the old \nous Aimaiuhile phrase which every sinful man may well apply to himself, "A monument of Mercy!" In the end of June, as doubtless you have already heard from John, we came to Dumfries (Niece Mary and I) ; staid there till the middle of September. A silent, quiescent, very empty, dreary kind of life to me, cheered only by the great affection, patience and kindness of everyone about me. The air was pure and excellent; the solitude not unbeneficial; but the Rail- way whistles which are near that excellent House of Jean's were a sore misery to me (tho' to no one else of the smallest inconvenience) ; and I lost often in a very wretched way, on the whole, about a third part of my natural sleep; which of course was much in the way of the salutary influences there. So that I know not at this time if my health got any improve- ment or not; tho' of course the change itself was something, — the turning of a poor sick creature from one side to another. I feel, at least, no worse ; am gradually recovering my sleep here, and hope sometimes to do a little better this winter than last. My worst inconvenience in these years is the refusal of my right hand to write for me. The left hand is yet quite steady; but the right shakes so as to render writing, if not impossible, at least intolerably slow and unsatisfactory: literally enough, the breaking of my work arm, and cutting me ofT from any real employment I may still be fit for. In these weeks, how- ever, I am trying to write by dictation (as you see here), and Mary, who is both swift and willing, eagerly helps and encour- ages; so that perhaps something may come of it. Let us hope! The noises during my first month at Dumfries, drove me to Craigcnputtock for shelter for one week (properly for five days), — how inexpressibly sad I need not describe to you. Silent, Thomas Carlyle 271 empty, sorrowful and mournful as death and the grave. Not in my life have I passed five more heavy-laden days. Your old stone dyke, the fence to the cow-field which you built for us the year we were in London, that w^as still standing, firm every stone of it, a memorial of affection still alive for me; all else was of affection now in the death-realms, gone, gone, and only a sorrow and a love for it left in me which exceeds all others. The place is all, I believe, in substantially superior order; immensities of grass upon it this season, effectually drained and a great deal of money laid into it. . . . I made two pilgrimages, one to Ecclefechan (was some hours at Scotsbrig), another to Haddington; on what errand each of them you may conjecture. The Ecclefechan one did my heart a solemn kind of good; the other Pilgrimage was wrong planned; it involved three sleepless nights in Edinburgh, and the blessing in it was encircled by a great deal of mean wretchedness. This and the day's Railwaying hither, which soon followed, was all the journeying I did. . . . Pray tell me about poor old John, our half-brother. I often think enquiringly about him, and what is becoming of him in his lonely old age. Some rumour was going among us that he was to come over to Bield to spend some of the dark months with you. Was that true or not? Give my affectionate regards to him, and to every one of you down to the youngest; especially to Tom and Jane, whom I personally know. God's blessing be on you and yours, dear Brother. Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. 272 ISIew Letters of LETTER 342 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 26 November, 1870. My dear Brother — . , . We have had quite a daily jumble of Letters all week on that German-French affair,* — making truly a much a-do about nothing; for none of these missives throws any new light whatever on the matter; . . . Turgenief t was here yesterday, and walked with me in Hyde Park, — unaltered, or altered for the better, plumper, taller, more stalwart than ever; only his beard a little greyer. He was excellent company while we walked together; talking about English Literature (his disappointment with our recen- tiores, our Brownings, Tennysons, Thackerays, Dickenses, — nay our Byrons and Shelleys), and giving experiences about the starting of the war in Baden. The sight of him is interesting to me; tho' it awakens the saddest memories. He talks of being here for five or six weeks; — intent chiefly on making some acquaintance with real English Literature. Froude is to have an article on " Progress" in next Fraser; which you will find worth reading, tho' it is rather straggly and incondite, not at the bottom of the matter at all. . . . My last bit of news was very sad : the death of good Thomas Spedding, — a great shock and surprise to me last time I met Froude. James Spedding's stoically mournful little Note on * Carlyle's letter to the Times on the Franco-German War. t Ivan S. Turgenief (or Tourgu6neff), the popular and liberal-minded Russian novelist (born 1818; died 1883). His home was in Baden-Baden from 1863-71. Thomas Carlylc 273 the subject (which please return when you have read it) was lying for nie when I had parted with Froude and come in from my walk. Another true and valued friend of mine, whom 5''ou I think hardly knew, I have also lost: poor Foxton, near Rhyader in Wales; sudden and sad, which has equally affected me. Out of my own kindred, I had not two friends in the world who were so valuable to me. Alas, alas! Here is enough, dear Brother. Thank Jean for what she wrote to me, which I read with real pleasure. She writes al- ways with sincerity, with a certain veracity which was peculiar to "Craw Jean" when she was hardly eighteen inches high, and which is always worthy of much esteem. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle, LETTER 343 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 10 December, 1870 Dear Brother — . . . Last night I was even out to a great or greatish Dinner: strictly speaking the first time for these four or six years! But the Duke of Argyle called one morning lately, with a Print for me; was by Mrs. Warren mistaken for a School-Board canvasser, and alarmingly dealt with (over which there were peals of laughter, when I got the real name and arrived up-stairs).* Invitation from the Lady Duchess * It was the day of the London School-Board Election ; and Mrs. Warren (the housekeeper, rather a Cerberus at the door in the best of times) had been repeatedly disturbed that morning by canvassers soliciting (^ar- lyle's vote. When ehe opened the front-door to the Duke of Argyle's knock, presuming that here was another canvasser, she stamped her foot angrily and exclaimed: " Mr. f'arlyle is 7int going to vote to-day!" The Duke, much amu.sed, handed her his card, saying fjuiellv, "Take that to Mr. Carlyle." Vol. II -la 274 New Letters of was the consequence; and I shiulderingly felt T had to go! But it passed all hannlcssly, indeed beautifully; they sent their carriage for inc, and I went and came as in a big ball of wool. There was an elegant little party (Howards, a Lord Lowndes, their own Lome and pretty Daughters); flunkies were grave and solemn, creatures in kilt and sporran. The Duke himself is a most kindly, frank and intelligent man. I dined on a fraction of venison and ditto of grouse, came home without damage and was astonished to find I had been so cheer- ful, . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 344 To Dr. Carlyle, Edinburgh! Chelsea, 21 January, 1871. Dear Brother — . . . I am reading and slightly revising (with hardly any change at all) the three volumes of German Translations; and am more than half through the second vol., — that is to say nearly half through Meister's Travels; which with the Apprenticeship is full of strange impressiveness to me after so many years. ... I am not to be plagued, it appears, with reading proofs of that People's Edition at two shillings a volume; and it will bring in, covenants Chapman, — a good sum of money, — I altogether forget how much. Mary in the meanwhile is strenuously busy about signatures for a Pension for poor Geraldine [Jewsbury], which, in the sickness of Forster and the laziness of Froude, Mary has had to undertake and is managing with great vigour and success. . . . I send my best regards to Mrs. Stirling,* my warm- * Widowed sister of Thomas Erskine. front (hi: />atitlii'^ by Mtxnc''. tSjj MAK(;AKi:r aiikkn caki.yi.f., a-a, 71 Thomas Carlyle 275 est hopes that she is getting well again: ah me, ah me! — For the last three nights I am reading a Book of Moltke's, The Russian-Turk War of 1827, which is written with great talent, veracity and vigour; and betokens to me a truly superior kind of man. That is the one attraction to me, and holds me fast hitherto, in the total absence even of maps which my copy (lent by Reichenbach)* altogether has not. Our weather here is one whirlpool of mud, rain and dark- ness; the very air seems to be a kind of solution of glar! But for the last three days it sometimes seems to me mending. Courage, courage. Adieu, dear Brother. Ever yours affectionately, T. Carlyle. LETTER 345 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant ford, Canada. Chelsea, 28 February, 1871. My dear Brother — , . . Outward things go what might be called altogether prosperously with mc: much printing and new printing of my poor bits of Books, which never had such a degree of circulation as now; honour enough, all sorts of honour from my poor fellow-creatures, etc., etc., all which sure enough is good in its kind, is at least better than the contrary would have boen; })ut has all become of small moment, and indeed to a degree that astonishes myself utterly incZr^erc/tf in sight of the Immensities and Eternities which I now see close ahead. Plenty of personal friends there arc too, who are * Count Ileichonbach, a German political refugee, whose wife was a sister of the Mr. Phittnauer often mentioned in Mrs. Carlyle's letters. 27() New Letters of abundantly kind, and several of them clever and ingenious to talk with; I do not shun these altogether, but neither do I seek them; conversation generally wearies rather than delights me, and I find the company of my own thoughts and recollec- tions, w'hat may be called conversing with the Dead, a more salutary, tho' far mournfuller employment. In fact, dear Broth- er, I am now in my 76th year, and for the last five years especially am left altogether solitary in these waste whirlwinds of existence; that is, as you perceive, the summary of my his- tory at present. I think I was always a serious creature too, and always had in the heart of me a feeling that was unspeak- able for those I loved. No wonder one's thoughts in such case are solemn, and one's heart indisposed for worldly trivialities, however big these think themselves. — . . . In late times, looking at you all in Canada, where you are as it were a little Colony of yourselves, I cannot help feeling thankful that you are there and not here. This country seems to grow more and more uninhabitable for the natural- minded man of any rank, and especially for the poor man who has to work for his bread, and determines to be honest w^ithal. More and more does that become impractical to him as matters now go; the proportion of false work and of false ware, — shoddy in all departments, practical and spiritual, — increases steadily from year to year. Wealth in enormous masses becomes ever more frequent, and in a still higher proportion, poverty, grim famine and the impossibility to live, among larger and larger masses of the Working People, in the lower kinds of them. Among the higher kinds of them, intemperance, mutiny, bad behaviour increases daily. In fact I apprehend before many years the huge abominable Boil will burst, and the British Thomas Carlyle 277 Empire fall into convulsions, perhaps into horrors and con- fusions which nobody is yet coimting on. All Europe, indeed the whole civilized world, is in weltering and confused struggle and mutiny; I can find nobody so safe as he that is piouslj^ and faithfully tilling the earth and leading a manful life in silence, far away from all that, divided by the sea from all that. . . . We have had as you doubtless know, an agitated six months with the German-French War. Not since we were Boys, and the First Napoleon was getting handcuffed and flung out of doors, have I seen so much emotion or so universal about any Continental thing. Yesterday, and not till then, we learn that the Preliminaries of Peace are actually signed, — not yet Peace itself; tho' that latter too is to be looked for as certain in a few days; and so an end to the most furious controversy Europe has ever seen, at least to the completest brashing into ruinous defeat that vain and quarrelsome France has ever had. ... No event has taken place in Europe, in my time that pleased me better, and, for my own part I expect that the results, which are certain to be manifold and are much dreaded by the ignorant English, will be salutary and of benefit to all the world. — Adieu, m}' dear Brother, ... Be diligent and faithful, patient and hopeful one and all of you; and may we all know, at all times that verily the Eternal rules above us, and that nothing finally ivrong has happened or can happen. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. 13 7 S New Letters of LETTER 346 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 25 March, 1871. My dear Brother — . . . Mary is very good and kind, poor liitle soul, has been up three times in the hollow of the night min- istering to me like a beneficent little Fairy; yesterday she had from Lady Ashburton a shining testimony of that Lady's about her, which I doubt not is rather agreeable to the little wretch; — but I leave her to report the thing to her own Mother (as of course she will do in a day or two) having no authority of my own to speak of such matters. She has already done out of her own little head four Letters for me to correspondents requiring nothing but second hand; and had just got done five minutes before I was set down at tliis door. . . . Mr. Erskine {ci-devant Patterson) with his Wife were duly welcomed here; with a glad surprise even, for I did not know he had changed his name: they sat half an hour in very pleasant colloquy with me; and I engaged to consider if there would be any possibility of my putting down on paper some reminiscences of good old Erskine; which so far as yet appears I hardly think there will. . . . Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 347 To the Same. Melchet Court, Romsey, 13 May, 1871. . . . I read almost nothing either, and in fact do noth- ing; but am content to look upon being in the open air, sitting, Thomas Carlyle 279 walking, being driven through the New Forest sceneries and (one day) riding a too fiery horse in hope of benefit from that variety of inaction, which, however, I have not repeated hitherto. Turgenief came duly on Monda}^; but unhappily had to go again on Wednesdaj^ morning; I say unhappily, not only be- cause he is really a friendly, intelligent man, a general favourite with high and low, but because he entirely relieved me from any labour of talking, — being himself a most copious and entertain- ing talker, — by far the best I have ever heard who talks so much. We had various other people here, but none that did me the lea.st good; nothing in fact is so tolerable to me at pres- ent as being well let alone. The clear air, the sometimes shining skies, the great sough of the woods, the otherwise entire silence; all that comes to me with an unspeakable welcome ; and, though steeped in sadness, all of it is a real blessing to me. ... I can add no more except that our treatment here is supreme; and that Mary is a first favourite with everybody. Tell Jean that, with my love. God bless you all. . . . T. Carlyle. LETTER 348 To Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries^ Chelsea, 13th October, 1871. My dear Sister — I intended writing to you yesterday, but was prevented; indeed I have various days intended, but always some pitiful invincible trifle has prevented me. One poor word, however, you have to-day; though, alas, what good can it do! All words am in effect idle; th(? stroke has fallen,* our loss is * The death, by omnibus accident in London, of Mr. James Aitken, Mrs. Aitkcn's eldest son. 2S0 New Letters of iiTcvocablo and vmaltorablo. "It is God's I10I3' will," is all that any of us can say or think upon it; — and to think it so with our whole heart is far better than any speaking of it; and the solo assuagement that exists for any of us. I am nmch struck by the imivcrsal sympathy poor Jim's death awakens and the great love of all his friends for him. A faithful, useful, clear and loving-hearted man; and felt to be such, apparently without exception, by all who knew him. There is a mournful but deep and true comfort in knowing that this was verily the fact; a human being at any stage of his existence cannot end on better terms. You cannot but weep for him, dear Sister; but surely this is not the worst kind of sorrow, by degrees I trust you will find it has been blessed to you. IMary is very diligent and active doing all she can to unravel the unpleasant mystery about his worldly efTects; which we hope will one day come to clbarness; it is for the present an unwelcome mean ingredient in your sorrow; but perhaps it is no evil either, — gives you all something to do outwardly while in the endless inward sorrow there is nothing to be done at all, God be with you, dear Sister; and sanctify to you (as our Fathers used to say) this heaviest of griefs that He has sent you. I will say no more at this time. . . . You can tell John we have actually begun translating that Icelandic Story from the German, and daily insist, what we can, on getting more or less {less for most part) of it put on paper. The labour I know well enough to be worth in itself nothing; but to poor me, able only for nothing, it has a perceptible, though infinitely small, value; and I mean to stick to it, if possible to the end. — Froude is coming to-day, of which I am glad a little; Allingham turned up above a week ago and has been a diligent Thomas Carhjlc 281 attendant every second day or so; he also is rather better than nothing. . . . The Linlathen message also came; and Mary, on strict search, has foimd about 20 Erskine Letters;— I cannot for my life think what to say about Erskine that could be suitable for the Public it is meant for; but yet I suppose there will be no avoiding of the attempt to say something! I much dislike this kind of demand upon me (which comes far oftener than I could expect) ; but on reflecting, too, I should perhaps admit that in a case like Erskine's especially, it has its value to me, and its uses. . . . T. Carlyle. LETTER 349 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 14 December, 1871. My dear Brother— Here is a Letter that came from Alick la.st night : all is in the usual way there, as you will be thankful to see, — especially poor old Brother John's readjustment of his housekeeping, which is a novelty, was welcome to me! I don't want the Letter hack ; do you put it by somewhere, when done with. — I will also request you to get this £25 changed into a Canada set of dollars in the form of a Draft to poor old Brother John; in his new quarters it will be privately a kind of anchor to the poor old heart or imagination. Please send it me hither at your earliest convenience, and his address along with it, if you know that. Or one might address it to Alick's care, perhaps most fitly of all. . . . Yesterday, in Lady Ashburton's brougham, . . . I drove out to Denmark Hill; a strangely misty, mournful. 2S2 Neio Letters of silently mcaning-i\\\, lonesome and beautiful drive to and from: Ruskin was not there; "gone to Town with his Cousin on busi- ness," — which probably was just as well, in the mood and state I was in. Ruskin, I believe, is about quitting Denmark Hill altogether; going to Oxford and Coniston Water : lam very anxious about him. — . . . LETTER 350 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 20 January, 1872. My dear Brother — ... I duly received your two Let- fers about the beginning of the week; and was much obliged for the trouble you had taken. Thornhill, especially Holm Hill and its memories remain with me always, upon what basis you well know; I am very glad to hear that poor Mrs. Russell is rather in an improving state, at least not worse, or visibly grow- ing so; and that the honest old Doctor and she are not to have their household gods and innocent life-partnership swallowed in dark clouds, as all earthly households have to be, till a yet un- known time. Give my best regards to both of them by your next opportunity. This book, Bret Harte, a recent American celebrity, may perhaps suit them for reading, or perhaps even you or Jean at Dumfries in the first place. It belongs intrinsically to Mary, to whom I made a gift of it some time ago; but she is willing to surrender it a while on this errand, having herself read it before. Bret Harte himself is a notable kind of object, a man altogether modelled upon Dickens, like Dickens seeking his heroes in the region of blackguardism and the gutters, where heroic magna- nimities and benevolences, I believe, were never found; and de- Thomas Carlyle 2S3 lineating them, like him, by ell-deep mimicry instead of pene- tration to the real root of them and their affairs, — which indeed lies much farther down! Like Dickens, however, he does the feat generally rather well: and I suppose will continue at the same moderate workmanship, tho' a man of more weight of metal than Dickens was. I heard first that he was still young, which made me think he might still mend ; but by the last ac- counts he is towards 40; and I consider shaped for life. Read him, if you can, at Dumfries, then at Holm Hill; and let him fight his own battle. . . . As I grope about, read Snorro again, etc., etc., I find a great many meanings attach themselves to those old Trygg- vesons, Hakons, Olafs, and their work in this world; and if I knew Icelandic like you (and alas, if I had my own right hand, but not otherwise), I feel as if I could still write a rather bright and useful little book about them! which reminds me of the old rough proverb in Annandale dialect: "If ifs and ans were pots and pans! " In brief you shall have that Preface,* if I be spared a little while. Adieu, dear Brother, for this day. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 351 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 24 February, 1872. My dear Brother— Punctual to its moment, and complete in every point and [)ortioii, came yom* answer of yesterday morning * What Carlylf' iHTf calls ii " Prrfaf(>" was tlio rniTimonremont of his "Early Kinps of Norway," of which more will be heard in subsequent letters. -84 New Letters of iluring broakfiu^t. I took your copy of the " Syniholum," * and wh'ih still drinking my coffee, — Mary's being done, — dictated to her three words for Tyndall, packed these and Symholum into an envelope; and so had completely washed my hands of my engagement. A neat little job altogether: thank you much for enabling me to do it so compendiously. Nay, I think it was you who first led me to this beautiful little Goethe Poem, and that without you I should probably never have discovered it, certainly not so soon, if ever! which is another perhaps still more considerable favour. We are working dreadfully, poor Mary and I, at that mon- ster of a Norse Preface, or Sketch of the Early Kings of Norway; seldom did I undertake a more totally worthless thing, never anything at all which so bothered me in getting executed or came so near the impossible in this my fatal want of a right hand. . . . Mary talks of being actually done with the copying (as I will with the correcting) about the end of next week: you shall then see it, if it could do the least good to you or anybody, ... I am reading Ruskin's Books in these evenings, ... I find a real s^^iritual comfort in the noble fire, wrath, and inexorability with which he smites upon all base things and wide-spread public delusions; and insists relentlessly on having the ideal aimed at everywhere ; for the rest I do not find him wise — headlong rather, and I might even say weak. But there is nothing like liim in England in these other respects. . . . * Goethe's " Mason -Lodge." Thomas Carlyle 285 LETTER 352 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 27 April, 1872. My dear Brother — About Thursday, then, I will expect you, — ^with many "wishes" (good journey, etc.), not needing ex- pression here! Don't forget to tell us which room you will prefer. . . . Please do bring down that Norse-Kings MS., and the Saga withal may as well come, though about the latter I care little or nothing. The former cost me, poor Mary and me, a deal of trouble; and I could like well to have it put right in all details by such an opportvmity. Indeed it strikes me you could not better fill your forenoons, while waiting on the question, "Vichy," than by a thorough revisal of this Piece, — in the light of your New Norse History (which also bring). I don't think I should like to part with many (or perhaps almost any) of those anec- dotic insignificancies, — the whole Norse History being nothing to me save anecdotes ; — but I should be very desirous to have everything correct, instead of disgracefully not. A tolerable (or even a fairly legible) Map of Norway would be a great ac- (juisition; but, I suppose, that is impossible in these latitudes and habitudes! Think of all this and let us do our best. . . . Adieu, dear Brother; let us hope to meet again in this poor world, very soon! It is surely a mercy of Heaven to us both, could wo bo but rightly thankful! Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. 2S6 New Letters of LETTER 353 To Miss Mary Carlyle Aitken, Dumfries^. Chelsea, 11 May, 1872. . . . The Imperial Interview * passed yesterday without tlic least accident, — or, I think, the least real profit to either party, I was received with warm courtesy by the Count and Countess Bernstorff, who soon left me to myself in a very grand room t (which I knew of old) ; in about three minutes, Brandis entered for perhaps a minute and a half; and within another minute, entered (followed or escorted by Brandis, who flung the doors open) Imperial Majesty herself, with a blithe quick air and step, and a soft enough voice of welcome. She offered me her hand, which I kissed (according to rule); there were but two chairs in the room (set there on purpose no doubt); Majesty took one, I (not thinking, tho' I apologised afterwards) took the other; Brandis stood to a side; — and there the High Lady at once launched into an official kind of declaration of the "reasons why she wished to thank me," of the etc., etc., and in short, of the "greetness" J of a certain man, and how "that Writer on Heroes was himself a Hero! " This was her last word oji the chair. Rising to her feet she said cheerily, "It was Odo * With Her Majesty the Kaiseriii of Deutschland, t In Prussia House, Carlton House Terrace. X Cobbett reports, of one of his Displays or Harangues in some man- ufacturing Town, that a working man with a little son on his arm re- spectfully asked, If he would be so kind as shake hands with this little Boy? Cobbett readily did so. "Theare now," said the proud Father to his Boy, "Thou can say, a' thy life, thou hast shooken hands wi' the greetest. man in England!" Cobbett himself reports the important fact in next week's Register. {Note by T. C. on a copy of this letter.) Thomas Carlyle 287 Russell who advised that I should see Carlyle, which I had often tried to do, but now I have done it! " and giving me her little hand, evidently to shake, this time, and kindly shaking mine with due expression of fare-you-well, graciously withdrew, and I saw her no more, — nor had had in the Interview, except lis- tening, any active function whatever. Her English was not fluent, though correct enough; once or twice Brandis, once my- self, helped her out with a word ( — " temoin?" "witness," was my stroke of help) : all I said otherwise was by way of paren- thetic interruption; she did not seem to wish me to speak at all; — and indeed, I now guess, nmst have had her speech prob- ably all by heart (but don't whisper this to any soul!), — which gives a slightly ridiculous character to the whole affair, — and entirely secures one's head against being turned with it! She is a fine old Lady to look upon ; turned of sixty, and con- siderably older-looking than your IMother; a pair of uncom- monly bright, large and kind grey eyes are now the striking feature; but when young she must have been fairly beautiful. She is not tall, but of good medium size, still slim of shape; and I recognized in her both her Mother and Father, who were a smallish woman and a tall man. Her dress (of which I know not one particular, except that it had a brilliant small-speckly blue-and-gold look) seemed to me at once modest and mag- nificent. — . , . LETTER 354 To JoJin Forster, at Epsom'. Chelsea, 4th September, 1872. Dear Forster — . . . Last night's thunder and rain del- uges will have lightened everything a bit. ... I am com- 28S Neio LcftcrR of plotely solitary here; nnd rather find it profitable to be so, in comparison. Seldom has London so little of raging noise and ditto nonsense as even now; small still voices can speak to one, and thoughts high and mournful that wander through Eternity. Mournful exceedingly; yet also with gleams of very blessed- ness, and love stronger than death! Were not the fountain of tears quite dried in me, I could feel it a consolation to sit and weep. . . . I finished my Shakespear — Othello (in Dyce), — Othello mur- dering Desdemona, last night, with the loud thunder overhead! Unique of speaking mankind! — Dyce's text, etc., seem to me fairly the best : at the same time for use it is simply intolerable. A wandering through the Gardens as of Paradise, — accompanied everywhere as with a whirlpool of barking curs, unfortunate cats, apes, and irrational unclean creatures! — Let me hear again, as you promise, dear F., item, even see you some day soon. With many best regards to the amiable one, Yours always, T. Carlyle. LETTER 355 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries! Chelsea, 26 October, 1872. My dear Brother — . . . Mary and I are faithfully stand- ing to our poor bit of work; * the translation fairly ended and mostly re-copied and put right; but it will still involve me in a good deal of petty fash, piecing, shifting into new positions, etc. I often fear no silk purse can be made of Saupe, who, * Carlyle had written on the 2d of October " We [Mary and I] expect to begin our Schiller here to-morrow morning; and hope to make good progress." Thomas Carlyle 289 though very honest, is intrinsically something of a sow's ear. On the whole it keeps my hands and head pretty full through the few working hours of the day; — and in that respect may be counted a kind of blessing to me; — Saupe's blotchings and my owTi bother with them being better than the poor gloomy meditations which I should otherwise awake to every morning. I have got several much superior Books about Schiller's early wanderings (especially one Schwab, which will be well worth your reading by and by) : all these I am looking into and mean to read in some loose way; but I must avoid also carefully going into investigations and details on the subject; or even to seem to have taken much trouble with this "Supplement of 1872," or have made any serious study on what is so insignifi- cant to me now; and upon a Book which I have always felt and declared to be entirely insignificant. Enough of all that for the present! . . . Froude and Tyndall (as you doubtless know) are both in America; Tyndall lecturing in Washington by this time; Froude ditto in New York, with great splendour of recep- tion, — as you see by the little slip inclosed, from his Wife last night; to be burnt when you have read it. Perhaps by this time you may have heard from young Emerson, who is walking hopefully St. James's Hospital; and came here last Sunday and said he would write to you. Perhaps he told you withal, what is a great secret, that Emerson Father, with his unmarried Daughter, is now on the seas for England! Actually so; but means to keep it secret all \u\ can, being out of health and sent straightway for Italy; not till after some months in which, will he return and openly show him.sclf to England; I fear he is not in a very goorl st.'ilf of lir'alth, — perhaps beginning, like the Vol. II.— I'J 290 New Letters of rest of us, to feci that he too is entering the gloomy valley of 01(1 Age. Meanwhile I shall be greatly interested to see Emer- son once again, on the terms there are, . . . LETTER 356 To Dr. Carlyle, Durnjries. Chelsea, 2 November, 1872. Dear Brother — . . . I have got, in the meanwhile, a great deal of interesting satisfaction from reading those other Books* about Schiller; which bring him so much more clearly than ever before my mind; and, along with him, so many memories, emotions and associations that now lie full fifty years behind me. He is upon the whole a most loveable fellow- man, full of affection, enthusiasm and nobleness of mind; but as a Poet, Man of Intellect, or otherwise of supreme talent in any kind, I do not recognise him more than heretofore. Poor Schiller, the account of his death, which I read yesternight the last thing (vividly described by Voss, who sat up with him twelve nights, and saw him the day before he died, look at his last little Baby with inexpressible love and Wehmuth, and then bury his head among the pillows in a flood of tears), brought me also to the edge of weeping, or even over the edge. Last night, before all this, we had been dining with Forster, as you are to imderstand! Allingham and young Emerson be- sides our two selves were the only company. Emerson spoke to me of your Letter to him, and of his writing to you, as he had undertaken when I saw him last about two weeks ago. He now suddenly announces to us that he is just about leaving * Schwab, Voss, etc. Thomas Carlyle 291 London, were his Father once fairly arrived ! He goes to France, I think, thence to America, for the sake of some privilege in the Boston Hospital, which he expects there. He was rather pleasant company last night, — much as we found him at Sea- forth in August last. His Father it appears, he privately ex- pects to arrive at Liverpool early next week; Father is then to be carried off to Chester for quiet's sake; to come almost incognito to London thereafter, and, with a minimum of delay, make for Egypt for the Winter. I made him, with sincerity, the offer of his old lodging in this house; but do not think he will accept. . . . Of Fronde's operations in America you probably hear through the Newspapers; something of it you may see in this week's Public Opinion, if you care to read it, — which is not much worth while. I see a good deal of Sir James (or Fitz- James) Stephen latterly: he is good solid company for in- telligence, sincerity and information about industries, which, however, though really important to the world, are not so to me.* . . . Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 357 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 29th November, 1872. My dear Brother — . . . I have done nothing but read; only two of my books are worth anything; First, a little Pam- * In a letter of later date (23 Dec.) Carlyle says of Sir James Stephen : " He volunteers weekly to visit me on Sunday with a long walk and long intelligent discourse, which however relates niainl)' to objects rather foreign to me, Indian matters, (!fTi'te English Ofliciality in the Home DcpartmentH, projects of Codification, etc." 292 New Letters of phlct of tho Early English Toxt Society (which perhaps you have?) about the Wdlsche Ga,si, which has really some interest. If you have not got it, say so, and a penny will bring it you. The 2nd Book is one by an Augustus Hare, Nephew of Julius and of his Brother Augustus; an artless wide-wandering sort of book; but of much interest to me; treating of all the Hares, Stanleys, the Bishops Heber, etc., etc., full of vanished person- ages whom I knew, and of letters and diaries from beautiful religious women (true sch'one Seelen many of them), which has affected me more than any book I have read for years. My copy is from Miss Bromley's Library; but it is to be had in the London Library, I should think. Speak, if you want it; we will see what possibilities there are. . . . LETTER 358 To John Forster, Lincoln^s Inn Fields. Chelsea, 20 December, 1872. Dear Forster — . . . Froude is raising a dreadful disturb- ance in America; your prophecy about him altogether coming true. ... I never could, more than you, see what propriety there was m taking our extremely dirty Irish linen to wash it there, and call America to see. . . . Yet Ireland remains a deplorable phenomenon. . . . The biggest, richest and essen- tially the grandest Empire now under the sun, perpetually tor- mented with the meanest of dirty dish-clouts pinned to the tail of it, which might be settled, one would think, with a compara- tively small investment of human genius! The "Curse of Cromwell" had completely do«e i-t at one time, and is clearly Thomas Carlyle 293 the one elixir for the case, — unsuitable for the "People's Wil- liam," in a high degree. One very wet day I went by appointment to Norton's. Saw Ruskin and the Norton party, children Sister and Mother, — all very nice, and Norton a man I like more and more. Rus- kin good and affectionate. He was fallen into thick quiet despair again on the personal question; and meant all the more to go ahead with fire and sword upon the universal one. James FitzJames Stephen on a long walk each Sunday is the main company I have had. He is writing weekly an Article or two in the Pall Mall, busy on Law, and beating Mill's "Liberty" into small brayed glass (in a way rather wearisome to me); and indeed, I think, has a real stroke of work in him. . . . LETTER 359 To Alexander Carlyle, Brantford, Canada. Chelsea, 7 January, 1873. My dear Brother — . . . Your account of poor old John's * death, tho' very brief, was very touching to me and abundantly clear. A death from weary Old Age alone, no disease visible, only a tabernacle worn out with eighty years of work, and the wheel at the cistern falling slower and slower till at length it silently stops. The way of all the earth; none of us will escape it, and to some of us it naturally seems close at hand. We have only to say in such dialect as we have, God's just and holy will be done. I forget when it was I last wrote to you, dear Brother; ♦ Their half-brother, John Carlyle. 294 New Letters of but suppose that since last Autumn you have heard little special of my history; and therefore I will begin there. John and I, after his return from France, escapcnl out of the sultry whirljiool of London down to the Southern coast of Devonshire (London smoke following us perceptibly for the first thirty miles; but the rest of the country green and beautiful as you can anywhere see). We went to a grand little Cottage over- hanging the salt water; a place belonging to Lady Ashburton, — where, in 1865, I and Another, not now here, made our last considerable visit in this world. You may conceive my thoughts on coming back to it again after such a seven years as I have had! But we need not speak of that. I will say only that, in spite of my weakness, I walked a great deal, John oftenest accom- panying; that the splendid Cottage was by no means propor- tionately adapted for lodging a weak old man, liable to great misery from sounds and the like; and that there, as everywhere, tho' the kindness shown us was supreme, one daily needed all the philosophy one had; however, I managed to get down every morning to the sea-side; where you could bathe at any hour, and there had a hearty swash in the sea, as the first thing done for the day. In the course of two weeks or so, I began to perceive some influence from this practice, and before the end of the month which was the limit of our stay there,! had judged it was an influence for good; — which I continue still to think it. The only kind of medical appliance that for the last twenty years has had any effect upon me at all. John staid with me a while after our return hither; after which he went to Dum- fries, and from there I believe you have more than once heard of him, and from him. Of our other kindred the accounts are generally good; to the effect. Going on as usual. . . . For Thomas Carlyle 295 myself, dear Brother, I have only to say that there has no work come out of me whatever, except an accidental and very simple bit of addition to the Life of Schiller; which, if my right hand had been my own, I could have finished in five or six days, tho' to poor Mary and me it cost seven or eight weeks of a very confused labour! This inability to write with my own right hand is a heavy calamity at present, and prevents all literary labour, of which otherwise I were now and then perhaps capable. — I think I must send you that pitiful bit of addition to Schiller; or rather the Schiller Volume altogether. It is to come out next month; soon after the end of February I expect you may have it. . . . Well may you fare, and brave may your lives be, yonder far over the sea! — Before very long I hope to write to you once again. Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 360 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 5 Feb., 1873. My dear Brother — . . . The Schiller Revise has still the latter half of it (two sheets and a half) in Robson's hands; on the day after to-morrow I can hope to discharge it also with equal ease, and so, wash my hands of that poor little enterprise forever and a day. It has turned out, after all the confusion poor Mary and I had with it, a bettor thing than I expected; and will do very well as an adjunct to Schiller. . . . Poor Forster is still in great distress; not danger- ously ill (thinks Quaiii) but really in a bad fit, he admits, — incessantly coughing, and with very little sleep. . . . Dur- 206 New Ldlers of ing the whole of this misery he has been strenuously busy for me, upon a matter which you will much approve* when I tell you of it on our first meeting again, which I love to hope may not be far distant. . . . Ever affectionately yours, T. Carlyle. LETTER 361 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 22 March, 1873. My dear Brother — . . . Yesterday was a miserable cold slobber of hail, rain and bitter wind. I made Miss Bromley take me up to Norton's (poor N. has had an attack of pneumonia, and been prisoner for many weeks, though now nearly well again) ; he is a fine, gentle, intelligent and affectionate creature, with whom I have always a pleasant, soothing and interesting dia- logue when we meet, — the only fault yesterday w^as, I liked it too well, and staid too long. He read me a bit of a Letter which re- ported Emerson's safe arrival at Paris, with "his age renewed" by his Egyptian winter, and in particular, instead of the utterly bare, or slightly woolly scalp, a visible coat of hair again, or under way. I suppose he will be here in not many days; prob- ably I told you already he contemplates six weeks in Eng- land. . . . I will now have an hour of clear Reading, if it please Heaven, before I sally out. — With blessings on you all. Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. * The making of his Will, in regard to which Forster's legal advice was of value. Thomas Carlyle 297 LETTER 362 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 26th April, 1873. My dear Brother — ... In return I have next to nothing, or altogether nothing, of news to tell you. Except indeed that Emerson is just leaving us, and that except in Edinburgh, about ten days hence, I know not where there is any chance of your meeting him. He came down hither day before yesterday, sat about a couple of hours, talking cheer- fully in his mild, modest, ingenious but rather theoretic way; and then rose inexorably to go for Forster's who had asked him to dinner for this (Saturday) night, but was to find him inexorably engaged elsewhere. So he went his way, and it is probable I shall see him no more, as he departs punctually to-morrow morning for Merthyr Tydvy 11, 'Oxford, Manchester, etc., etc.; nothing fixed but that he is to be in Edinburgh, and that he sails with Norton from Liverpool on the 16th of next month. I think sometimes the Edinburgh University people should give him a Public Dinner; things of the kind have been proposed here, but given up, or perhaps declined; Edinburgh is perhaps the fitter place, if any place can be fit. Should you be writing to Masson, you might fling out a hint? . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 363 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries' Chelsea, 10th May, 1873, My dear Ikotiier— . . . Yesterday I took leave of Norton, who came down to have one last walk with me, but 29S New Letters of to our rogrct the walk was interrupted by rain, and he had to call a cab, being rather on the sick Hst at present. ... I was really sorry to part with Norton, and his interesting Family of little Motherless children, good Sister, and venerable Mother: he has been thro' AVintcr the most human of all the company I, from time to time, had. A pious-minded, cultivated, intel- ligent, much-suffering man. He has been five years absent from America, and is now to return One instead of Two as he left! He is off to-day for Oxford; will meet Emerson at Liver- pool on Thursday next, whence Westward Ho! by the best Steamer they could fix on. Yesterday I got a great shock when Norton told me, when we were stepping out into the Street, that John Mill was dead! I had heard no whisper of such a thing before; and a great black sheet of mournful more or less tragic memories, not about Mill alone, rushed down upon me! Poor Mill, he too has worked out his Life-Drama in sight of me; and that scene too has closed before my old eyes, though he was so much my junior! . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 364 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 20 Sept., 1873. My dear Brother — . . . No. 5 here [Cheyne Row] was all as clean as new pins. ... All had a calmness and correct composure which was mournfully beautiful to me. Mary's guidance of me through the transit,* and since and onwards, * From Dumfries to Chelsea. Thomas Carlyle 299 has been, what you may suppose it, mere kindness and affection. Unluckily, with all this I got only half a sleep in my own wel- come bed, and was astonished and aimoyed by various accursed sounds, miraculous intrusions of chanticleers and other phe- nomena; — of which I say nothing more except that they are all victoriously swept into the abyss again, and that last night, ... I have at last got what may be called a good sound sleep, and feel as if I had fairly got over the hill, and were to have plain sailing and some tolerable composure and perhaps even some improvement for the time next coming. . . . For the rest the days are oftenest really beautiful, brisk winds, often enough with spotted sunshine, the clearest sleekest streets for promenading, seldom any considerable rain, except by night, since we returned. I have also got a number of Books, all the critical Pamphlets about Goethe's Faust that are in the Library, and have sent for the others, while diligently reading those on hand. Except Falk, who treats of Goethe generally, those latter are all decidedly rather stupid; — but I feel not yet to have done with Faust, Part II., nor probably shall have done for some little while. ... I also, with much earnest- ness, recommend to you some translation from the Icelandic, or other light work, which, far from burdening one's weak life, would, as I know by long experience, sensibly steady and cheer, and alleviate it. Let me beg of you to think seriously of this and take it as sound advice from your elder Brother. . . . 300 New Letters of LETTER 365 To Dr. Carlyle. Chelsea, 15 November, 1873. My dear Brother — You sent me duly the FitzJames Stephen Lecture in the Scotsman, which I should not have seen other- wise so soon; it was carried off the same day by Froude as a thing he was eager to see. The second and concluding Lecture you most likely have to-day; and on Monday morning I may expect to see it here. Stephen had been talking of it to me more than once; and I found it a very curious piece indeed, delin- eating one of the most perfect dust-whirls of administrative Nihilism and absolute absurdities and impotencies; more like an Elective Government apparatus for Bedlam, elected and sub- mitted to by Bedlam, than any sane apparatus ever known be- fore; — and strangely enough, it is interlarded withal with the loyallest assurances every now and then that it is the one form of Government for us for an indefinite period; and that no change for the better can practically be contemplated. The second Lecture which was to shew us some shadow of the per contra side I shall be curious to see. Poor Stephen has evi- dently got intertwisted with Gladstonism and the prospect of the Solicitor-generalship to a distressing and bewildering de- gree. His Dundee failure of election has been the most awk- ward event: it cost him, they say, £800 of money; and the Gladstone Solicitor-generalship is gone from him like a knot- less thread. . . . Both Froude and I are almost rather of opinion that he ought to join with Derby and by one bold Thomas Carlyle 301 stroke cut loose from the People's William altogether; but I believe neither of us has yet spoken to him in that strain. He is a very honest man, Stephen, with a huge heavy stroke of work in him; needs a great deal of money for the big young family he has, and has at present no means of earning it but by Journalistic, Legal or other piece work. Tuesday last I went again to dine at Forster's, Tennyson and Spedding [James] there and no other company. Tennyson was distinctly rather wearisome; nothing coming from him that did not smack of utte" indolence, what one might almost call torpid sleepiness and stupor; all still enlivened, however, by the tone of boylike naivete and total want of malice except against his Quarterly and other unfavourable Reviewers. . . . Spedding looked a good deal better; clean as spring water, serious, simple, something of reverend in his aspect. He has actually finished his Life of Bacon, the last page of it gone to press; a right notable feat for Spedding; which I emphatically praised. The eldest of his three beautiful nieces (Tom's daughters) is dead last autumn. Spedding gave me the history of the event in very calm but rather touching terms. — Forster still suffers a great deal in these cold windy and often foggy days; has not once been out, I should think, for almost two weeks back. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 36G To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 29 November, 1873. My dear Brother — ... I myself have been reading notliinj; German, merely wandering in mi.xed mood over Lanfrey, 302 New Letters of \'ol. IV,, and certain other poor Napoleonic matters. Lanfrey's Book * is hard and dry, but not without intelligence, brevity and vigour; and says throughout the very worst that can be said of that wonderful man. It is not worth your buying, but it might be of your reading; in which case I could probably get it for you here. In Lanfrey Napoleon gradually delineates himself as the nearest approach ever made to Lucifer, otherwise Satan Salthoim ; but I found there were grave omissions in that de- lineation and that the man was actually human after all. Hardly ever man so strangely situated and so strongly tempted in this world before! . . , I got through my Taylor f Dinner, which was very splendid indeed; and was home about eleven at night, ready for one glass of sherry with two waters, pipe of Tobacco and two hours more of quiet reading. Lady Minto, blooming beautiful Coun- tess, was the heroine of the evening; hero, our quasi-hero, Sir John Coleridge, a tall straight-up gentleman, utterly bald and clean washed, whom I had seen before. . . . Adieu, dear Brother, four o'clock is striking and Night's wet curtains are swiftly rushing down. My love to Jean and the rest. Blessings be with you all. Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. * "Histoire de Napoleon I.," by Pierre Lanfrey, in 5 vols. (1867-75). t Sir Henry Taylor. Thomas Carlyle 303 LETTER 367 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 1st Jan., 1874. My dear Brother — ... A second Book, entitled Drum- mond of Hawthomden, came from Masson about a week ago, which I read diligently and generally with great pleasure and approval. If you haven't got a copy, tell me, and I will send you this, for you are pretty sure to like it. . . . It is full of excellent correct information about Scotland in Drummond's time, and with successful skill, very considerable indeed, plants Drummond sitting observant in the middle of it. . . . The two Canada Letters came duly and were worth reading, especially our poor Alick's, whom one is touched to see wending calmly and lovingly to the last, down the road we have all to go, each in his several mood, and with his peculiar burdens. . . . Ever since you heard last from me, I have been much occupied with the thought of a Public Statue to Knox; and especially with enquiries among sculptural or pictorial people I have had access to, about the possibilities of getting a real likeness of him and converting it into a Bronze Figure of real excellence. This seems to me the one difficulty in the matter; all other difficul- ties I consider to be easily supcrablc. For I take them to consist essentially in the matter of money only, and I cannot for a moment believe that Scotland, to whom it is a positive dis- grace to have no Monument to Knox, would, if properly applied to, withhold an abundance of monoy at loast. Since Laing's last Letter, I wrote him a second, recording what researches I had 304 New Letters of made as to that Torphichcn Portrait, and the considerable ap- proach to complete conviction or persuasion, that here was the actual point to begin with, viz.; That a thorough enquiry by experts in Scottish History and in Pictorial Antiquities should be made into this Picture; that photographs should be taken of it, etc., etc.; and that in short, if a reasonable conviction in the affirmative were once attained, the question should be put em- phatically to all Scotland, Will you help us to make this into a suitable Bronze? Of the answer I have no doubt myself. . . . In fact I have considerably set my heart on seeing a real Monument set up to Knox, as probably the last thing I shall meddle with in this world; and I won't give it up, though Laing has failed. Twenty years younger, I would have placed myself in the front and on the top of it; but, alas, at present all I can do is to give my poor £50 or £100 to it, to summon and invite competent persons to consider my proposal and fulfil it, if they can, . . , You might transcribe what I wrote to your- self (part of the last Letter you had, reporting what I meant to say to Laing) and send it off to Stirling Maxwell of Keir* . . . If Stirling say Yes, I will engage to stand by him so far as I have any feet left; nay, I think, if he and I both said Yes, with the proper emphasis, the thing would veritably take effect, and that * In a letter of the 9th December, Carlyle proposed that a bronze statue of Knox should be set up in the centre of the College Square, Edin- burgh, " in this way mutely proclaiming : ' The newest spiritualism of Scot- land still understands this to be, in many and these the most important senses, its typical Scotsman; worthy to rank among the truest, noblest and bravest we ever bred; and a benefactor to Scotland, such as few ever were.'" — In the same letter he also suggested that Knox's "dwelling- house at the head of the Canongate " should be purchased by the city council of Edinburgh or by the whole of Scotland, and made into "a repository for authentic Knox remains, original editions of his Books, documents on the History of the Reformation, etc., etc." Thomas Carlyle 305 particular ''disgrace to Scotland" be at an end. . . . Dark night is coming down, dear Brother; and I must at length sud- denly end. With my love and blessing to you all, Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 368 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 14 Feby., 1874. . . . The day before yesterday His Prussian Excellency forwarded to me by registered parcel, all the Documents con- nected with our sublime elevation to the Prussian Order of Merit. I had a great deal of unwelcome bother reading that accursed Cursivschrift of theirs and making out what gasp of official twaddle I was expected to answer with; but that too, is all done ; goes off to Berlin by this evening's post. The papers, all but one, — which enclosed a series of strict enquiries, all in Cursivschrift, as to my name, surname, place of birth, religion, social standing (a "Writer of Books"), place of abode, and con- nection with other Prussian honours, — have now gone back with clear answers affixed: and so we have done, thank Heaven, with this sublime nonentity for ever and a day. The Star or symbolical Decoration is really very pretty; a bright gold thing like a wheel with spokes, about the size of a crown piece, hung with a black ribbon, with silver edges. Mary has laid it by, punctually folded up, probably never more to meet the light in my time. Bui in sum, I am heartily glad to have got rid of the affair; and feel about it, after the fash is over, (juito Vol. II.— 20 306 New Letters of as emphatically as I did at first, that had they sent me a J lb. of good Tobacco the addition to my happiness had probably been suitabler and greater! . . . Adieu, dear Brother. Ever your affectionate T. Garlyle. LETTER 369 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 27th April, 1874. My dear Brother — This day week then, Monday 4th, we expect you here. All is ready; Mrs. Warren, the very day she heard of your advent, silently flitted Maggie [Welsh],* without consulting either her or me, downstairs to the room on this floor! I hope you will arrive in good heart, and find every- thing swept and garnished. . . . That invaluable object (the Somerville Portrait of Knox), I now learn is actually at hand; on Wednesday, the day after to-morrow, I am actually to find the Lady with the Picture ready; I bring it down hither, if Tait and some of his adjutors can set to work next day; and so the affair, following its due course, will be completed in due time. On Friday next, Mayday, I am to give my first sitting for a Statuette by Boehm, of whom Mary, if you ask her, will give a full account. He seems to me by far the cleverest Sculptor or Artist, I have ever seen; the Statuette is for Lady Ashburton and at her urgent request; otherwise, in spite of my esteem for Boehm, I could hardly have consented at all to sit. He says he will complete the affair in four sittings, but I fear this ♦ Who was staying at Clxeyne Row to give Miss Aitken a holiday. Thomas Carlyle 307 will hardly be the case, and any^^ay I must take my chance; only I resolve six shall be the absolute maximum, and that will not hurt me much. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 370 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. St, Brycedale, Kirkcaldy, N. B., 1 Sept., 1874, My dear Brother — We packed up vigorously yesterday morning; cleared away into the Burntisland Railway and were swept across the sunny, breezy Firth in perfectly propitious cir- cumstances; — and found here hospitably waiting us at the Kirkcaldy Station, our excellent host, P, Swan, with every appointment and equipment for the exercise of perfect human hospitality, as perfect, I believe, as I could experience in this world. . . . This is an excellent, solid, shady, silent and convenient human habitation, close behind Kirkcaldy, yet quiet as if many leagues from it; in brief, I seldom or never, in my days had a lodging so much to my mind, or that promised to be fitter for me so long as it will last. I have excellent Sea- bathing within few minutes walk; had yesterday afternoon, one of the finest plunges (much superior to Portobello in clear- ness of water). . . . For the rest, there is absolute com- posure to be found in the house and the most complete and practical liberty conceded and impressed upon you to do your own way; and as practical sum hitherto I feel myself better to-day than I have been, not only since leaving Chelsea, but for many months before that. 308 New Letters of I find r. Swan rofiUy one of the most honest-hearted, simple and genuinely kind of men ; a man of real natural munificence, fidelity, simplicity and human worth: and I really think you will find it a delightful place to pay a visit in, as I believe you had promised, w^henever time suits. . . . I will write no more, dear Brother, but go out into the sun- shine, which you yourself would rather have me do. Many and many are the loving, mournful thoughts I send towards you all; but they are practically, alas, of little or no use and not to be expressed in words at all. God's blessing be upon you from the eldest to the youngest. Assure Sister Jean of my un- alterable regard. Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Garlyle. LETTER 371 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries: Chelsea, 17th Oct., 1874. My dear Brother — This is the first you have heard of me since our parting in Dumfries. . . . I am looking forward to the actual beginning of that thing about Knox's Picture (which, it is possible or probable, I may have to shift from Fraser's Magazine to some Graphic or other Newspaper, owing to the difficulties about the Prints needed in it); and as to employments. Heaven knows, the only one I have, that of reading Spedding's Bacon, is far from a seductive one! The illustrious business of the drain,* about which we had such a sputtering and fussing, has turned out to be a most * Introduction of a system of drainage, from the garden to the street, passing under No. 5 Cheyne Row. Thomas Carlyle 309 undeniable improvement in the department concerned with it, and, I now find, is, and was, all along considered by the Vestry and Inspector, to be a work of beneficence and of homage done to merit on their part, — and, in whole, does satisfy me as a real benefit, now that it is completely done, and well done, . . . . . . Darwin picked us up one day on the Chelsea Em- bankment and drove me about a good while, not unpleasantly. He had never quitted Town again after we left him there. Tait came down the day before yesterday; . . . Trevelyan joined us just as we stepped out, and he is a fellow that never wants for talk. . . . With a considerable shock I learned from Darwin that poor Twisleton was dead three or four days before, but where or how, Darwin could not tell me, nor could anybody I have yet seen. It is a true sadness to me, this sudden loss of poor Twisle- ton. He was a thoroughly honest man, of accurate, intelligent and courteous nature; always well affected to me; long ago, with the beautiful little Wife he had, much a favourite here. Brookfield too, I feel to be a loss in this impoverished condition of the field, and now left to my own reflections, more than I did when the event happened. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 372 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 17 Nov., 1874. My dear Brother — , . . The only event here, if event it can be called, is the actual begiiniing, or rather attempt at be- 310 New Letters of ginninu;. that pitiful thing on Knox's Picture; which, with fingers and eyes of my own, I could finish almost within a week; . . . Probably the last thing I shall write in this world; comfortable solely, if even so, by the pious intention of it, if it can have any result at all. , . . I have seen Ruskin, these three Saturdays in punc- tual sequence at two p.m., who promises to come weekly at the same day and hour, by way of holiday at London. I got but little real insight out of him, though he is full of friendliness and is aiming as if at the very stars; but his sensitive, flighty nature disqualifies him for earnest conversation and frank communication of his secret thoughts. . . . God be ever with you all. Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 373 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 1 Jan., 1875. My dear Brother — ^The enclosed Letter * and copy of my answer ought to go to you as a family curiosity and secret: nobody whatever yet knows of it beyond our two selves, except Lady Derby, whom, I believe to be the contriver of the whole affair. You would have been surprised, all of you to have found unexpectedly your poor old Brother Tom converted into Sir Tom, Bart., but, alas, there was no danger at any moment of such a catastrophe. I do however truly admire the mag- nanimity of Dizzy in regard to me: he is the only man I almost * From Disraeli, offering Carlyle a baronetcy and pension. Thomas Carlyle 311 never spoke of except with contempt, and if there is anything of scurrility anywliere chargeable against me, I am sorry to own he is the subject of it; and yet see, here he comes with a pan of hot coals for my guilty head! I am on the whole grati- fied a little within my own. dark heart at this mark of the good will of high people, — Dizzy by no means the chief of them, which has come to me now at the very end, when I can have the ad- ditional pleasure of answering "Alas, friends, it is of no use to me, and I will not have it." Enough, enough. Return me the official Letter, and say nothing about it beyond the walls of your ow^n house. The Knox (shame on us!) is never yet finished, but we are struggling forv\'ard with it, and it is really near done. Ailing- ham,* I believe, — or rather I was going to believe till Mary put me right, does not want it, — but the fact is he does want it, — before the Norse Kings is done. And, Oh me, oh me, please the pigs, he shall have it! — . . . I send the current Frascr straight off to Maggie Welsh, knowing you can easily get it at Dumfries, if you like. And really there are some good Articles in it; especially one by the "Author of Supernatural Religion" (as I think) whose name, it appears, is not poor old Dr. Muir of Edinburgh, but one Pusey, Nephew of the Puseyite Oxford Pusey, and Son, I guess, of Philip Pusey, — an excellent gentleman whom I used to know. Be it by whom it will, the Article is worth your reading,— yours, if perhaps no other's in the house. There is also a Yankee Piece, the last in the No., of a very cheering and hopeful complexion. The Fraser people are to keep me 6 copies of the Norse Kings. . . . All I can send is, from the bottom of my heart, best wishes ♦ William AUingham, the editor oi^Fraser'n Magazine. 312 New Letters of to you all, and siloiit prayer that God's mercy may still attend us while our pilgrimage continues. Your ever affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 374 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 30 Jan., 1875. My dear Brother — ... I have not been worse in health since you last heard; in fact usually rather better; and at times in the midst of my multifarious infirmities there come glmipses or bright reminiscences of what I might in the language of flattery call health, — very singular to me, now wearing out my eightieth year. It is strange and wonderful to feel these glowings out again of intellectual and spiritual clearness, fol- lowed by base physical confusions of feeble old age; and indeed daily I am taught again the unfathomable mystery of what we call a soul radiant with heaven and yet capable of being over- clouded and as it were being swallowed up by the bottomless mud it has to live in in this world! We have never yet got absolutely done with that unfortunate Knox, tho' it seems to be hanging for weeks back on the very edge of finis and will surely be altogether ended in a day or two, and put into the drawer in clear MS., to lie there and rest until it is wanted for final emendation with the printer waiting for it. All the three parts of the Norse affair are to be printed before Knox come. . . . Except for the encouragement and bene- fit it may give to poor Allingham, nothing could have induced Thomas Carlyle 313 me to bother with it further; but the poor man was so passion- ately anxious, I could not find it in my heart to say No. . . . Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 375 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Keston Lodge, Beckenham, 2 Sept., 1875. My dear Brother — I understand you are for Peebles "the end of the week"; this day therefore, will be the last on which there will be any chance to catch you. I hope the poor packet will arrive before you go. Part of it you may notice is for Sister Jean, from whom I had three days ago, or four, a long and pleasant Letter which I fully mean to answer more deliberately. We are fairly doing well here, not ill at all; and profiting what we can by the glorious element we have got dropped into. One of the strangest I ever had experience of. The silence day and night is the completest in the world, solitude, too, is without parallel: all manner of chances are given one for profitable thought, if one were capable of it, profitable though melancholy in a high degree. Mary has been up to Chelsea and reports that everything is nearly complete and that from, and after, this week, we can gather ourselves and go home when we like. I think it is likely we may continue still for perhaps a week more. The first seven or eight nights, I had a great deal of haggling with my sleep; some of it painful, even wretched, though I always did get a portion of sl(!(!p, good or bad; but Mary at last took the thing in hand, and one afternoon contrived mc what is equivalent to a 314 New Letters of real Four-post bed without the roof and with only half a side; but complete in the bottom part against all inroad of light (big clothes-horse, with big red table-cover, firmly fixed with lug- gage straps), really an admirable bed in which I, every night since, sleep pretty much as well as usually at Chelsea, and find it an inunense relief and comfort in comparison to what pre- ceded. All forenoon I sit reading, siih dio; exactly at half-past two, we get into a little shell of a four-wheeled carriage, light as a pease-cod and with an eminent little bay pony, quiet and swift, dash out for a drive of 14 or more miles, whithersoever seems good to us. "We dine punctually at six and are in general mak- ing into bed about midnight. Except Darwin * who has gone to Southampton since, we have seen, as it were, absolutely nobody. Darwin and family pleased me very much and indeed it is a good while since I have seen any brother mortal that had more of true sociability and human attraction for me. Erasmus [Dar^dn] we understand to be still in London, but that there is a chance for his coming down hither before we quite go away. . . . We saw Ruskin's Allen one day at Sunnyside, Orpington, and got from him the Fors of this month (which is good for little), and a whole half dozen or more of other little and bigger books, which I find to be superior stuff, and have begun to read with real interest. Michelet, several days ago I finished out; a most wonderful book,t — ^wonderful, not admirable; for it goes all dancing to one like a chaos; many parts of it difficult to under- * Charles. t Histoire de France, by Jules Michelet (Paris, 1871-4). Cariyle's estimation of this work grew more favourable on further reading; he had the volumes expensively bound; and he cordially contributed to the " Michelet Memorial " in 1877. Thomas Carlyle 315 stand, with all one's previous knowledge of the subject, and totally unintelligible without; and the general result not the victory of the Reformation and partial restoration of God's truth, but what M. calls the Renaissance, meaning thereby restoration or invention of the Ballot-box and, for culmination, the outburst and performance of the French Revolution; a fine genial creature, too, this M., tho' so wayward and from oneself so diverse. I design to have his Volumes bound, however, and you shall read them if you have a mind. Adieu, dear Brother; there is no right room for more. Send back poor old Alick's photograph (very sad and very touching to me); . . . My heartfelt love to Jean and all of you. Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. LETTER 376 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 6th Novr., 1875. My dear Brother — ... A good number of people are by this time come to Town; indeed I think plenty, or more than enough for my purposes, nobody's "company" is of high inter- est to me, but perhaps is advantageous sometimes by inducing reasonable talk, instead of brooding silence. Lecky and Ailing- ham are my most frequent visitors; American Motley, a man of more gifts and deeper character than cither, is back in England; still very infirm and, no doubt, very sorrowful, — I called the other day; but only left a card and expect him here when things favour. ... I have roughly translated that "Spiritual" .•^16 New Letters of fraction''' of Goethe's and enclose it for you to-day. Mary says nobody can read it; but I doubt not you, with the help of the original, will make it out; and I want your serious considera- tion of it; and any help you can give me in mending it! " Tohu xva Bohii," for instance, evidently means Chaos come again; but where does the phrase come from, will any of your Diction- aries indicate? also, what is "Hermann?" and what are his "Communications?" . . . I am now fixed down to Thucyd- ides by Dean Smith, a good translation, now above a hundred years old. It is not extremely interesting, but it is wise, solid and human, in grand and noble contrast with almost anything that is written now. Ruskin has not sent the Fors Clavigera this month, hitherto. Does that mean anything? I fear it does not mean that he has given it up altogether! Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 377 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 13th Novr., 1875, Mj' dear Brother — ... It was very kind of you to take so much charge of the Geistes-Epochen. I turned up all your references in Goethe and carefully read them ; I have found also marked in the I^ondon Library Catalogue both the Hermann book you mention, and several others; these also I ought to look into, and will try ; but, alas, the days are so dark and unfavour- able just now. I gather, in general, that Goethe (whatever * The Geistes-Epochen. See Nachgel. Werke, XLIX. 5 (Stuttgart u Tubingen, 1833). TJiomas Carlyle 317 Hermann might do), means by this Httle Piece a bird's eye view of the whole history of human Religious speculation; including Christian Theology as well as others, from the first origin of man in this world onward to the times we have now got to, which are to Tohu iva Bohu (Chaos thrice confounded), such a pluister of black stupidities, hypocrisies and bottomless basenesses of mind as "even the Spirit of God," says Goethe, "could not reduce into a world worthy of him! " — I strive to believe that in the latter clause Goethe is mistaken, and that the "Spirit of God" is equal to all emergencies; but the passage, as a feature of Goethe, is very remarkable to me. — ^You need not by any means copy the foul sheet you have got; but merely, in carefully read- ing it over, help out, or correct, the translation, with all your skill, in particular words and phrases, as you go along. That will be trouble enough and far too much to have put you to in regard to such a matter. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 378 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 20 Nov., 1875. My dear Brother — . . . Two or three days ago I fin- ished my Thucydidcs with great esteem and here and there great admiration for the Author's spiritual qualities, though the His- tory, such distance intervening between the Historian and us, is by no means altogether luminous to a modern reader, — so many things unknown to him, which were common-place and known to everybody while the Author wrote. Kirkpatrick's 3 IS New Letters of Letter about Dante and him was also welcome and estimable to mo. T do find points of notable similarity between the two men, especially their brevity, seriousness antl pregnant force of expression; but the wild wail of unutterable affection that runs through Dante, has no expression, or almost none, in Thucyd- idcs, who indeed may be said to have no religion, or none to speak of, in comparison with Dante. In the last two days by way of elucidating dark points in Thucydides, I have taken to Plutarch (Clough's excellent Edition), and find him, too, a very estimable man, though of a different type. Reading, alas, is a poor resource in comparison with writing; but of reading one should make the most; the difference between a good author and a bad is literally immense ! . . . There has come a pleasant enough Note from Norton in America; which, as not yet answered, I do not enclose to-day; there has also arrived from Harvard University a big Doctor's Diploma and sublime little Letter from the President of Harvard College, with which I know not yet what to do; never having been consulted upon it, and being resolute never to accept such a Title and yet reluctant to fling the whole affair irreverently in their faces, good souls w^ho meant to gratify me highly.* . . . With my kindest love and blessings to you all, Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. * Carlyle made an exception in this case and accepted the diploma in the spirit in which it was offered. Thomas Carlyle 319 LETTER 379 Bismarck to Carlyle. Berlin, 2 December, 1875. Hochgeehrter Herr — Die Feier Ihres siebzigsten [achtzigsten] Gebm-tstages geht auch Deutschland an, und Ilinen darf ich das ja in meiner Muttersprache sagen. Wie Sie bei Ihren Lands- leuten Schiller eingefiihrt, so haben Sie den Deutschen unsern grossen Preussen Konig in seiner vollen Gestalt, wie cine lebende Bildsaule, hingcstellt. Was Sie vor langen Jahren von dem "heldenhaften" Schriftsteller gesagt, er stehe unter dem edlen Zwange, wahr sein zu mussen, hat sich an Ihnen selbst erfuUt; aber gliicklicher als diejenigcn, liber welche Sie damals sprachen, freuen Sie Sich des Geschaffenen und schaffen weiter in reicher Kraft, die Ihnen Gott noch lange erhalten wolle. Empfangen Sie mit raeinen herzlichen Gluckwunsch die Versicherung meiner aufrichtigen Hochachtung. Bismarck. Translation : Highly honoured Sir — The celebration of your seventieth [eightieth] birthday concerns Germany too, and to you I may say that in my mother tongue. As you introduced Schiller to your countrymen, so you have placed before the Germans our great Piiissian King in his full figure, like a living statue. What you said long years ago of the "Hero as Man of Letters," — that he is under the noble obligation to be true,— has been fulfilled in yourself; but, more fortunate than those of whom you then 320 New Letters of spoke, you may rejoice in what you have accomplished, and continue your work in full vigour, which may God long preserve to you. Accept with my cordial congratulations the assurance of my sincere respect. Bismarck. LETTER 380 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 4th Dec, 1875. My dear Brother — There has been this day a complete whirlwind of Birthday Gifts and congratulations, about the poor arrival of my 80th, and probably last 4th of Deer, — from the whole of which Mary and Jean,* with the good sense of the senders, have mercifully delivered me; so that I have got little harm from them, which is a mercy. All this ended, there has come down a dark sleety cloud, more suitable for midnight, in regard to which, I have set down Mary with two candles, to write a word or two to you, generally announcing the thing and copying the two most remarkable of these Birthday documents, both of them from Berlin, with purpose to send you at least, a seledian from the others, were a new day, with visible, or presumable, sun once come. Prince Bismarck, you will observe, thinks it is my yoth Birthday, which is enough to quench any vanity one might have on a Missive from such a man: but I own to being truly pleased with the word or two he says about Friedrich, which seems to me a valuable memorial and certifi- cate of the pains I took in that matter, — not unwelcome in the circumstances. * Mrs, Aitken, now visiting at Chelsea. Thomas Carlyle 321 Besides German Documents, more or less remarkable, there is an Edinburgh Affair, got up, I think, by Masson, which has issued in a fine Gold Medal, done by Boehm, and an Address with many signatures appended; of which you shall hear more specially by and by. Let this, with the copies ac- companying, suffice at present on that head. . . . There has come a Letter from Canada Tom, yesterday morning; which distresses us all, announcing the great frailty and con- stant suffering of poor Alick, who perhaps will not survive me, as by nature he should. God bless him and me and all of us! Mary has much to do, and Forster has positively, by the most obstinate persistence, managed to have us all to dine to-night; so at present I will not add another word. — God's blessing on you all. T. Carlyle, LETTER 381.* To Prince BismarcK CSielsea, 10th December, 1875. Sir. — On Saturday morning, which was my eightieth, and probably enough my last. Birthday, I was honoured with a Letter, by far the remarkablest, the least expected and the most a^eeable that came to me on that occasion. This is the noble, wisc^, sincere and generous Letter which you have been pleased to write, and which I read with very great surprise and very great and lasting pleasure. Permit me to say that no honour could have been done to me, which I should have valued so nuich, or which shall live more brightly in my * For a copy of this hHtcr, 1 am indebted to the kindness of Mr. Leonard L. M;uk:ill, of licriin, wlio oblaiiicd an Ollicial Transcript from the Fori'ign Oflicc thfr«. Vol.. II.— 21 322 New Letters of thoughts for tho rest of my time in this world. What you eloign to say of my poor History of your groat King Friedrich seems to me the most pertinent and flattering utterance I have yet anywhere heard on that subject ; and I am truly proud of it from such a quarter. With very great sincerity, I warmly thank you for your goodness ; and shall continue to wish for you, as I have long done, every prosperity in your great and noble career, and that God may grant you years and strength to fulfil, or carry beyond risk of failure, the grand and salutary enterprise in which you have already gone so far, in sight of all the world. I have the honour to be and remain, Sir, Your obliged and obedient servant, T. Carlyle. LETTER 382 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries^. Chelsea, 15 December, 1875. My dear Brother — . . . My consolation is any bit of good reading. Plutarch at present is my chief resource, and composes the ruffled hair of one's back in a sensible degree, as the speech of one wise, clear and true man can smooth down the loud inanity of many fools and idiots when they are gone. — As to the Edinburgh Medal,* I understand only that there are * By the "Edinburgh Medal" Carlyle means the gold medal struck in commemoration of his eightieth birthday, which, together with an ad- dress signed by the more important literary, scientific, etc., men and women of the time to the number of about six score, was considerately handed in to Carlyle without needless formality and in the quietest man- Thomas Carlyle 323 to be Silver Med-als at a guinea, and Bronze ones at five shillings; but where they are to be had, or when, I have no personal knowl- edge. . . . Boehm it appears, had nothing to do with it, except furnishing the design in wax. The answers to all that wheelbarrowful of Letters, etc., were undertaken by Mary. . . . The answer to Bismarck, I with a great effort, painfully dictated; as to his Letter itself , it is too big and too precious to me for sending you by Post; but Mary undertakes to furnish you with a verbatim copy, in- telligible to the last comma of it, within this cover. . . . Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. ner devisable. The project of the medal and address originated with Mr. Arthur Laurenson; and the wording of the address was the work of Mr. John Morley and Professor Masson. It reads as follows: To Thomas Carlyle. 4th December, 1S75. Sir, We beg leave, on this interesting and memorable anniversary, to tender you the expression of our respectful good wishes. Not a few of the voices which it would have been dearest to you to hear to-day are silent in death. There may perhaps be some compensation in the assurance of the reverent sympathy and affectionate gratitude of many thousands of living men and women, throughout the British Is- lands and elsewhere, who have derived delight and inspiration from the noble series of your writings, and who have noted also how powerfully the world has been influenced by your great personal example. A whole generation has elapsed since you described for us the Hero as a Man of Letters. We congratulate you and ourselves on the spacious fulness of years which has enabled you to sustain this rare dignitj' among mankind in all its possible splendour and completeness. It is a matter for general rejoicing that a teacher whose genius and achicivcments have lent radiance to his time still dwells amidst us; and our hope is that you may yet long continue in fair health, to ff«'l how mucli you are loved and honoured, and to rest in the retrospect of a brave and illustrious life. We request you to do u.s the honour to accept the accompanying copy .S24 Neio Letters of of a Medal, designed bj' Mr. J. E. Boohm, which has been struck in com- memoration of the day. We remain, Sir, Yours with deep respect, Thomas Aird Wm. AlHnghani Alex. Bain Thos. S. Baynes Jno. S. Bhukie J. E. Boehm W. Boxall W. Brodie. R.S.A. John Brown, M.D. Rt. Browning John Caird Ed. Caird H. Calderwood Lewis Campbell Rt. Carruthers Edwin Chadwick Fred. Chapman Henry Cole Thos. Constable Arch. Constable Geo. L. Craik D. M. Craik F. Cunningham Chas. Darwin Eras. Darwin J. LI. Davies Jas. Donaldson David Douglas Ed. Dowden Geo. Eliot E. FitzGerald P. FitzGerald Robert Flint John Forster W. E. Forster A.M. Fox (for R.W, Fox) A. C. Fraser Houghton Richd. Garnett Ad. Gifford John Gordon A. Grant J. R. Green Alex. B. Grosart Geo. Grove Wm. Hanna R. P. Harding T. Dutfus Hardy Frd. Harrison Robt. Herd man W. B. Hodgson Jos. D. Hooker Robert Horn Thos. Hughes T. H. Huxley Alex. Ireland William Jack R. C. Jebb David Laing S. Laurence Ar. Laurenson W. E. H. Lecky G. H. Lewes J. N. Lockyer Jno. Lubbock E. L. Lushington Lyttelton A. J. G. Mackay Alex. Macmillan Hen. S. Maine Theo. Martin Hel. F. Martin Har. Martineau David Masson Henry Morley John Morley Ch. Ed. Mudie F. Max Miiller Chas. Neaves M. O. W. Oliphant Eliza A. Orme Richd. Owen Noel Paton W. F. Pollock Richard Quain Henry Reeve Mary Rich Henry Cowper Alex. Russel W. Y. Sellar Hen. Sidgwick Sam. Spalding Jas. Spedding W. Spottiswoode A. P. Stanley Godf. Lushington Ver. Lushington J. F. Stephen Leslie Stephen J. H. Stirling Susan Stirling Pat. D. Swan Tom Taylor W. C. Temple A. Tennyson A. I. Thackeray W. H. Thompson G. O. Trevelyan Anth. TroUope Jno. TuUoch G. S. Venables John Tyndall J. Veitch A. W. Ward H. Wedgwood F. E. H. Wedgwood W. Al. Wright J. R. Seeley W. S. Maxwell ■■ ^^^"Vi ^Hr ^^r '^^H j^H ".y ^ ^^^^^^HBtt'' ^^^^^^^B| ^^^^^K^^'A ^^^^^^^^^H ^E ",^^^^1 ^^^B MfcEL_^',,- ■,^A■.. r^;- ,. >'litiJmJMB^^Wi^Bii f'roitt a photo, by li'lioft %'t f'ry THOMAS CARLYLii Thomas Carlyle 325 LETTER 383 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 5th Feby., 1876. My dear Brother — I am just returned from Kensal Green and poor Forster's funeral, which has occupied me in personal activity for all the morning (indeed a good part of the night); but which, thanks in great part to Mary's precautions and assiduities, I don't think has done me any special damage, — great as have been the confusions, fasheries and chaotic sorrows and reflections connected with it and him, ever since his sudden removal from among us. Nobody, I believe, expected so sudden a death. I had called at the door on Sunday last and there met Dr. Quain just stepping out, who told me cheerfully that Forster, who had been suffering much in previous days, was to-day a shade better. Tuesday morning following, Quain was sent for, hurriedly between eight and nine; and before twelve, appeared here, and by cautious degrees informed me, with con- siderable emotion of his own, that poor Forster was no more. It is the end of a chapter in my life, which had lasted, with un- wearied kindness and helpfulness wherever possible on Forster's part, for above forty years. To-day contrary to expectations, I found myself next after Lord Lytton, constituted chief mourn- er; I and the Lawyer Chitty along with Lytton, leading the mournful procession, which was at an hour much too early for me. Mary, however, had provided everything that was pos- sible to secun^ me from trouble or injury; and I got home accompanied by Froude, in Mrs. Forster's own carriage about :i26 New Letters of half-past 12, and have now at least got into natural tempera- ture agahi, and hope there is no injury done. The event is really a sorrowful one, and practically a very considerable loss; but in all cases we have to adjust ourselves under it, and be thankful for what of human good there has been in it, without repining that it has come to an end. To poor Forster himself, it has clearly been an immense deliverance from long years of pain and distress. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 384 To Alexander Carlyle, Brant ford; Canada^. Chelsea, 15 February, 1876. My dear Brother — . . . There are few days in which you are not vividly present to my thoughts; and especially since that bodily disorder fell upon you, I and all of us are anxious and interested about you. I figure you painfully as held down by your bodily sufferings and imprisoned in the house, under the fierce Canadian Winter; and often and often ask myself how my poor old Alick is getting on, oppressed with burdens from which even I am comparatively free. God be with him and assist him, is all I can say to myself! . . . Your cold I figure to myself as far sharper and severer; but on the other hand your sky is oftenest perfectly free; and you have the blessing of pure light in abundance, which is many times want- ing here. . . . Along with this, or perhaps a day or two before, you will receive from the Bank a document bearing Adamson of the Thomas Carlyle 327 British Linen Company's signature for the amount of £150, converted into dollars. This I beg you to accept as a small Newyear's Gift to the Brother who for so many scores of years now has been dear and true to me. To yourself in your imprison- ment I fear it cannot do much good, but among your loved ones you may find beneficent use for it; if there is anything of useful that it can procure for yourself, right welcome is my dear Brother Alick to it, and to much more. Please tell some of them to send me word in the shortest of Letters that this poor little transaction is successfully completed. I am myself older than you and by nature ought to be weaker; and certainly I am grown as weak almost as if I were a second time a baby: but, by the great goodness of Heaven, I am as it were quite free from bodily disease, and have no illness upon me except simply what is implied in the word old-age. Often enough I feel weary of the empty, painful and idle exist- ence I now lead; but the suggestion is never far off, that God's will is the true will for us all in all things; and I look forward with ray best patience for the hour that is ever drawing nigher, when the wearied soul shall be summoned to its rest, such "rest" as God's holy will has appointed and as no man knows, has known, or ever shall know. Perfect submission to that holy will, be it according to our own poor wishes or against them, is for all mortals the one perfect rule. . . . My love and blessing to one and all of you. Ever your affectionate T. Carlyle. 328 New Letters of LETTER 385 To Dr. Carlylc, Dumfries. Chelsea, 22 April, 1876. My dear Brother — Your letter came to us yesterday, with accounts from all the Annandale kindred and the cheerful pre- diction that you are coming to ua very soon. . . . We are all here in our common way, nothing worth report- ing except what already has made you all sad, the mournful news from Canada. Poor Alick,* he is cut away from us; and we shall behold his face no more nor think of him as being of the earth any more; the much struggling, ever- true and valiant Brother is forever gone. To himself, in the state he was in, it can be considered only as a blessed relief; but it strikes me heavily, that he is gone before myself, that I who should in the course of nature have gone before him am left among the mourners, instead of being the mourned. Young Alick's account of his death is altogether interesting and brings one as it were present to the scene. A scene of sublime simplicity, great and solemn under the humblest forms. That question of his when his eyes were already shut and his mind wavering before the last finis of all, "Is Tom coming from Edinburgh the morn?" will never leave me, should I live for a hundred years. Poor Alick, my ever faithful Brother, come back across wide oceans and long decades of time to the scenes of Brotherly companionship with me; and going out of the world, as it were, with his hand in mine. Many times he convoyed me to meet the Dumfries Coach, or to bring me home from it, and full * Carlyle's brother Alexander died on the 30th of March, 1876. Thomas Carlyle 329 of bright and perfect affection always were those meetings and partings of ours. It is a strange thing to me that httle question of his and comes up continually on me, not with common sorrow only, but with a tenderness and strangeness which much affect me. Be sure you send us back safely the Letter of yomig Alick; the hasty notices in it are and will continue very precious. There is nothing that I can think worthy of writing about to-day. . . . Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 386 To Thomas Carlyle, Junr., Brantford, Canada. Chelsea, 4 May, 1876. Dear Nephew Tom — Yesterday morning your sad Letter reached me; and to-day in spite of my weakness I must write you a word of sympathy and mournful affection. For a good many weeks past, ever since your Sister Maggie's Letter to me here, I had a sad and painful assurance in me, which was shared by all, that the fatal end could not be distant. We hoped, like you, that, the gloom of Winter being nearly over, the Spring with its sunshine might produce some temporary alleviation; but ever from that day your Father's sad image fixed itself in my mind, and a thousand thoughts and tender recollections of him were my continual companions. At last unexpectedly, on the 20th of April last your Brother Alick's Letter came to his Cousin Mary, with the news that all was now ended; and that the kindest and truest-hearted of Brothers was gone forever. For himself, so loaded with pain, one could only regard the 330 New Letters of event as a beneficent tieliverance; but the shock we all had from it was heavy and sore. There never was a kinder Brother than he, from his earliest years and without break throughout life, was to me. True as steel he ever was, and with a fund of tenderness, strange in one of so fiery a temper; a man of in- finite talent, too, had it ever been developed by friendly fortune; I never knew a more faithful, ingenious and valiant man.* He was, withal, the first human being I ever came to friendship and familiarity with in this world; and our hearts were knit together by a thousand ties. Very beautiful, very sad and tender are the endless recollections I have of him, which must continue with me as companions while I live. No doubt similar thoughts dwelt in his mind about me, and it seems were ever present with him. Nothing has affected me more than what Alick mentions in his Letter, that in the wanderings of mind in the last hours of his life your Father asked repeatedly "If Brother Tom were not coming from Edinburgh to-morrow." Ah me, ah me, can ♦Carlyle, writing in September, 1866, says (in a note on the " German Memoir " of himself by Dr. Althaus) : " The Farmer beside us [at Craigen- puttock] for the first three or two years, was my next Brother Alexander, an altogether ingenious, witty, shifty, valiant and indignant yet tender and deeply affectionate manj who contrived for us and self multifariou'S inventions and improvements in the original chaos there, till it became cosmic in fair measure; he was a great treasure to me, and something of a real companion too, having many thoughts in him, got from a certain modicum of good reading, and from much of serious reflexion, with a bright rustic faculty of insight, and fine just sympathies, to work by, in his limited world. He was given to banter, could be bitterly sarcastic, bitter and fiery on the dog-kind, for whom his contempt was infinite, his tolerance far too small. Yet I have heard from him touches of a most genial sense of the ridiculous, and little spurts of a mockery which was soft as new-milk just flavoured with the best cognac; and which tickled you into the very heart with a kindly laughter such as I might call super- lative. How my poor Jeannie did enjoy these touches of his, and recited and repeated them in their wild Annandale accent!" Thomas Carlyle 331 I ever forget these words? He always escorted me out to meet the Dumfries Coach near Moffat, and back again generally from Moffat, when I was returning, a right glad man on these latter occasions, a quietly sad but always helpful one on the former. . . . I will beg you now further to send me some lucid accoimt of family affairs at Bield and what new arrangements and settle- ments are made or contemplated in this great change. Make my loving regards to your poor Mother; be gentle and good to her, all of you, — I need not bid you. Your Sister Jane has not written to me for a long while. Tell her, too, I wish she would. With my best blessings on you all, and prayers that your lives may be worthy of him who has gone, Ever your affectionate T. Garlyle. LETTER 387 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries'. Chelsea, 19 May, 1877. My dear Brother — ... I have had a great many mis- cellaneous and mostly come-of-will visitors. They, and even the customary sort, are nearly altogether a sorrow and an en- cumbrance to me. The earth grows very solitary when all our loved ones are faded away to the Unseen Land. Yesterday Lady Ashburton was here, her Mary and she, in good trim and ex- tremely kind. . . . Froude has been away " fishing," for a week, to be out of the way of questions about the "Torpedo" * which you read in the Times. There seems to be a hope for the ♦ Carlyle's letter to the Times of the 5th inst. on the Russo-Turkish War. 332 New Letters of present that Dizzy is crippled in regard to his Turk War or a war of anj' kind: ... for certain he refuses altogether to speak in the House of Lords, and one sometimes hears that he is losing his memory, etc. ; antl in brief, that there is no chance of his ever trying to become a Chatham in this world to which he has long been a disgrace, in all wise men's opinion, and now what may be called a continually minatory terror and curse. . . . The Book * you get with this has given great satisfaction here far beyond what was expected, — a beautiful, tender and melod- ious, self-drawn picture of a Scottish human soul whom one finds to be both hmnble and high and, on the whole, pathetically wel- come to one's heart. The De Quincey book, I find, is totally un- known here, and indeed I think, is never likely to circulate much, nor De Quincey himself with his strange organization, and pretty faculties, to come much into vogue again. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 388 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries'! Chelsea, 29 May, 1877. My dear Brother — I confidently meant to have written on Saturday last, but found myself in the hands of Millais, the Painter, and without time for that or any such operation. Millais still keeps hold of me for four days more now, this and Sunday my only holidays from him hitherto, and I see not yet what will be the day of my deliverance. Millais seems to be in * The book was probably the " Life of a Scotch Naturalist" (Thomas Edward), by S. Smiles. Thomas Carlyle 333 a state of almost frenzy about finishing with the extremest perfection his surprising and difficult task; evidently a worthy man. Mary went with me yesterday to see, and had doubts privately as to what the success would be; but indeed it can, with my complete acquiescence, be what it will. For the third and last time I am in the hands of a best Painter in England (Watts, Legros, Millais), and with that I will consider the small quasi-duty of leaving some conceivable likeness of myself as altogether finished. You asked me lately as to my choice of a place of burial, A good many years ago, that was done, and it is marked in my Will that I am to rest in the Kirkyard of Ecclefechan, as near as possible to my Father and Mother. — The only other thing that haunts me with a sense of incmnbenc}'^ as a thing yet to do, is that of writing something about poor [John] Forster in mem- ory of his great kindness to me ever since I was left alone in the world; but I find it extremely difficult, — owing considerably to my total want of hand power! This is perfectly true ; and you know not, my dear Brother, what a treasure you still have, which I have altogether lost. Forster's Bequest to the Kensing- ton Museum has been formally put in order and set forth to the public;* I missed going to the private view in spite of Mary's urgency, representing the great desire of Mrs. Forster: I could not manage it that day. . . . Ever your affectionate Brother T. Carlyle. ♦ Carlyle's letters to; John Forster were contained in this bequest. For copies of such of them as are printed in the present volumes, I am indebted to Mr. David Wilson, author of "Mr. Froude and Carlyle." 334 New Letters oj LETTER 389 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries^ Chelsea, 29 Sept., 1877. My dear Brother — ... I have myself been reading for the last ten days in Suetonius, of which I got two translations, an English and a French, both rather good, and the latter of them furnished with the original Latin in sight, but without any annotation for which I apply, more or less successfully, to the English one. I remember long ago finding among your Books, at Scotsbrig, on a rainy day, a translation by L'Estrange, which I read with great entertainment; no doubt this is still among your Books, and I could almost wish you to seek it out again and try it. I have now got before me a French translation of the Historm Augustcc of which I caught the original in the London Library, and mean to attack next. I. don't know if I ever told you, that in the course of the late months, I read Gibbon all over again, with various reflections naturally, and especially with a considerable abatement of my admiration for Gibbon's talent, in all particulars except that of copious and faithful reading, which is certainly very great. — You never tell me what you are reading, or how your time is occupied, which defect I would humbly pray you to amend in some measure. . . . I am very idle, as you see, and lead mostly a soli- tary life; my health is not to be complained of. ... I go down to the bottom of the Embankment nearly every morning, and almost daily in the afternoon, fly off in a Brompton omnibus on the route we used to go last year. . . . Thomas Carlyle 335 LETTER 390 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries] Chelsea, 27 Oct., 1877. My dear Brother — ... I have had various Roman Books, as you have heard, but am for the present out of these, and into the Lives of the Saints, the Hermits of the Thebaid, an old French book in three dumpy octavos, translated by Arnauld of the Port Royal, written in Greek sometimes, in Latin other times, by St. Jerome, Athanasius, etc., etc.,— which is occasionally very interesting, but far oftener drearily wandering in clouds of superstitious credulity, of which one can take no hold. A very different book has been that just published by Victor Hugo on the late Napoleon's Cowp d'Etat."^ It is in pieces, very clever, but such pieces (character of Louis, called Napoleon, of Morny and a few others) rise up like bright little islands in a dim sea of infinite details which, to an outsider, like myself, are of little or no value. The Book is not mine, nor do I know if it is in the London Library. I by no means think it is worth your buying, and indeed, this is but the first vol. of it, — foolish book by a most ingenious, clever man; to whom Democracy and the French Revolution are the holy of holies. . . . Lecky lent me the Lives of the Saints, etc., and has many books, especially trans- lations into French. He is a capital Latinist, I think; but seems to have little more Greek than myself, — a very friendly polite man. . . . The day before yesterday, I finished Hanna's second volume on Erskinc, which pleased and gratified ♦ L'Hisloirc d'un Crime. 336 New Letters of mc very much and filled nie with mournful recognition of probably the truest Christian man that was left in the world. Ehcu, chcii ! But I certainly must stop here, there being more still to write, and the day falling down blacker and blacker in floods of rain. My love and blessing to all and sundry of you. Write soon, if you can and will. Ever your affectionate T. Garlyle. LETTER 391 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 26 Oct., 1878. My dear Brother — I received your kind Letter the first thing this morning, and was sorry to find that it must have been written under pain and obstruction, in bad weather, in solitary imprisonment and other sorrows, which I daily think of with affectionate regret and am quite unable to help. There has nothing new happened here. Our weather, too, is bad like yours, and I get out daily for a drive which, alas, you cannot do. I never look into your room without a sad regret that you are not here; but alas, you absolutely cannot come, and you would not be nearly so well lodged as where you are. We must hope and be patient. I was naturally struck with the announcement of poor Laing's death. A considerable light of knowledge is thus ex- tinguished, and a very harmless brother mortal is carried away into eternity before us. I seem somewhere to have learnt that his death was caused by a fall he got; but can find no confirma- Thornas Carlyle 337 tion of it from Mary or otherwise. — Fro vide oame home the day before yesterday looking Httle the better we thought for his long rustication; but ready to talk at great length, though about nothing I had much interest in. We took him up in the car- riage to a Mme. De Novikoff, a Russian lady, and left him there at the hotel in Brooke St. It is likely he may be back again on Tuesday. But alas, I get extremely little good of any kind of company now left me in the world. . . . My reading has been desultory, discontinuous, and insignificant, namely from Swift's Gulliver and certain of his Essays and Poems. Gulliver I reckoned and reckon extremely clever, generally entertaining, too, and pleasant all except the Horse and Yahoo department, which I found extremely dirty and miserable. To-day, I have been trying Sterne whom I have not looked at for many years and cannot be said to have liked or got profit from. Skelton of Edinburgh, sent me his Book,* which you too, no doubt have got. If not, which is unlikely, I will at once send you this, — not on loan, but in gift. . . . I remain, ever my dear Brother, Affectionately yours, , T. Carlyle. LETTER 392 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 9 Nov., 1878. My dear Brother — Your welcome letter of tidings has just arrived, for which we are very thankful. We have nothing here to report of sinister, much th(! contrary indeed, if we consider the financial earthcjuakcs that are going on all around us,t from * Mary Sluarl. t From tlie failure of the Glasgow Bauk. Vol. II.— 22 338 New Letters of certain of which, we have in the last week almost miraculously escaped; nor in regard to health, have I anything that is truly bad to report. But the fact is, so far as I can read it, my strength is nearly faded quite away; and it begins to be made more and more evident to me that I shall not long have to struggle under this burden of life, but soon go to the refuge that is provided for us all. For a long time back, I have been accustomed to look upon the "ernsten Freund" as the most merciful and indis- pensable refuge appointed by the great Creator for his wearied children whose work is done. I read always, but can get no reading that is the least use to me. To-day I am reading Vol- taire's Zaire and find it a tragedy almost contemptible to me and void of meaning or interest. . . . Mrs, Allingham has for the last three days, been sitting painting me while I read, — one hour each day, and has made two small water-colour Sketches which appear to me to have a great deal of likeness. Boehm is in treaty about a Statue of I^ox, which is actually going up as frontispiece to the Had- dington Schoolhouse, and I hope may succeed with his project; at least if he do not, I can do nothing more. I have sent their Architect (Starforth, who built the Grayfriars Church at Dum- fries) a complete copy of the Essay on the Knox Portraits. Boehm will do that figure of Knox* at the cheapest price; and the commonly received David Laing Knox or Torphichen Knox he will not for any money whatever attempt to carve. So we can do no more. . . . God bless you all. Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. * After the Somerville portrait. Thomas Carlyle 339 LETTER 393 To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 15 Nov., 1878, My dear Brother — Thanks, for your punctual Letter, which lay waiting me when I got in from my poor cripply walk half way down the Embankment. I am not now able to get to the bot- tom of the Embankment, but have to stop half way and rest a little and return. My limbs getting quite lame about the middle of the back part of the thighs, reminding me daily of old Ziethen's description to Friedrich: Die Fiisse wollen nicht fcrrt* I have been thinking even more constantly than ever of your imprisonment during these wild mornings, while even with us the weather has been so bad ; and certainly, as I daily considered, it would be worse with you. I am not sure that you take the best plan in keeping your fire alight all night. Would it not be better to go to bed with a good warm fire and then to have it lighted again in the morning near rising time? There is an excellent recipe against cold, in down quilts to cover the feet or even the whole body if necessary, but probably, as Mary says, you already have one of these. The thick night socks are also very useful on the feet. I have these and also a soft red-flannel night-shirt (on the top of my ordinary night-shirt) coming down to my heels, which Mary has provided for me, and which I feel to be a great comfort. . . . I have tried the Russian Pushkin, as I mentioned, already, without any fruit. I have boon reading a Life of Maglia- * See Friedrich, Bit. xxi., chap. 5. 340 New Letters of bccchi*— which contains a hirsute portrait of him, one of the rupgcdcst and ugUcst conceivable, and a good many details that seemed to me incredible. I have even been thinking to try and read again either Shakespcar or the Bible, but have for the present a new French Book on Russian Literature which I must first dispatch, or dismiss. These are all my poor adven- tures, dear Brother, not w^orth detailing except to yourself. God grant us patience, is my constant prayer. The end surely is near and then all these troubles will have vanished. My kind- est continual regards to Sister Jean. My blessing to all of you. I ever am, Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 394 To Dr. CarlyUy Dumfries. Chelsea, 25 Jan., 1879. My dear Brother — . . . We are very glad to hear, what has somewhat surprised us, that you have felt rather better than usual this week, which has here been of so grim a com- plexion. ... I myself get along quite tolerably well, and almost always secure both warmth and sleep. . . . We have not seen Danvin for a week or more; but believe him to be lying quiet on his back, as usual, and employing himself quietly in reading. On the Sundays we omit carriage driving, and go usually in the omnibus to St. Paul's Cathedral, which is a beautiful serene place in itself and sometimes affords us, in the Anthem and Doxology, a peal of exquisite music from the * A Florentine bibliophile, originally a goldsmith, latterly court- librarian to the Grand Duke of Tuscany. His ow u library, of 30,000 vols., is now a free library. Thomas Carlyle 341 organ and vox humana. I am still reading various things, — at present Plutarch's Morals, in an excellent French translation, which is very pure and I might say equal to Christian in its sentiments; and does me if anything some good. There has been a little powdering of snow last night, which will, at least, lay the whirling storms of powdered brick which is laid over the streets for the sake of the horses. Mary and I go out to- gether to-day without other companion. We are very glad to hear of Sister Jean and the rest being as well as usual; and send them our heartiest love. Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. LETTER 395* To Dr. Carlyle, Dumfries. Chelsea, 8 Feb., 1879. My dear Brother — It is sad to me to read what you say about your "improvement" this week. Alas, the evil that remains to be improved is so great. It appears that you still cannot at all read, even with one eye, and are doomed all day to continue without employment. I do hope the right eye will recover soon; and that by the help of the left eye, and it, you will soon be able to read again. You seem to have had a great deal more of suffei-ing from ♦This, our finul letter, is, with one exception, the last that Carlyle wrote, and the very last in the correspondence with Dr. Carlyle, which had continued unbroken for over sixty years. Soon after its date Carlyle became rather seriously ill, and wa.s unable even to dictate letters. As soon as his condition would permit, he went to Dumfries, accompanied by his niece, and occupied a furnished hou.se there during Ihe summer months. The brothers met almost every day, until shortly before Dr. Carlylc's death, which happ<;ned on the 15th of September of this year. 342 New Letters of the coUl than I have ever hail hero. Indeed there was no cold here at all comparable in intensity to your Scotch fit; but even at the worst, it was an insignitieant part of my poor troubles; I was so c}uilted with clothes of all kinds, too, that it never got into me. I would have you to consider well whether you are not rather under-clad generally ; and, if so, to make good that error. All feeling of cold has disappeared here for several days, and it almost seems as if Spring itself had arrived at this premature season. I can read too, when there are any worthy books procurable, which is by no means always the case. You, I expected, would have got some good of a pair of Bismarck books that have come to me, but, alas, you cannot read them at present. Poor Mrs. Paulet is got out of all her troubles. I told you once, what she was suffering from, — asthma, and her utter weakness. She decided about a month ago, to go down to Essex to a Brother she had, — a clergyman there; but the re- verse of good attended her, so far as the disorder went; and she died some ten days ago; — ending, as we cannot but hope, a great many miseries in exchange for peace. Alas, alas! The final mercy of God, it in late years always appears to me, is that He delivers us from a life which has become a task too hard for us. that I could hear of your getting out of doors, of being able to see, and above all of being able to drive in a carriage; but we must not be impatient. The news from Annandale all seem to be good. What I hear of Sister Jean is also favourable. Good be with you all. I send my poor blessing to you, were it of any value. Ever your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. FINIS INDEX Aberdeen, Lord, ii. 157 Addiscombe, Mrs. Carlyle at, ii. 17; the Carlyles slaying at, ii. 33; Carlyle revisiting, ii. 258 Aird, ii. 165 Aitken, James, in charge of Craigen- puttoclv, i. 122; i. 156 Aitken, Mary Carlyle, Carlyle's niece and companion, ii. 250, 257, 258; Carlyle's appreciation of, ii. 262; staying at Lady Ashburton's, ii. 263 ; at Dumfries, ii. 270 ; Lady Ashburton's appreciation of, ii. 278; her brother's death, ii. 279 Aitken, Mrs. See under Carlyle (Jean) Aitken, Rev., of Minto, Carlyle vis- iting, i. 141 et seq. Aitken, Sam, i. 142 Albert, Prince, Carlyle's interview with, ii. 167 Alcott, Carlyle's description of, i. 278 Alford, Lady Marion, ii. 245 AUingham, Mrs., portrait of Carlyle, ii. 338 AUingham, William, ii. 267, 280, 290, 311, 315 America, success of Carlyle's Tevfels- dritckh in, i. 40; publication of Carlyle's early work in, i. 59; publiaition of his articles in, i. 100, 107; Emerson arranges for republisliing French Jtevolution in, i. Ill, 117; Carlylc'H Miscclla- mc« published in, i. 144; success of French licwlution in, i. 149; Carlyle's popularity in, i. 158; Carlyle's proposed lecturing tour in, i. 164; missionaries from, vis- iting Carlyle, i. 209, 210; Alick Carlyle's departure for, i. 295; new edition of Croimoell in, ii. 18; new editions of Miscellanies, Sar- tor Besartus, Lectures on Heroes, and French Revolution in, ii. 21 ; Froude and Tj'ndall lecturing in, ii. 289 Anne (Cook), a servant of the Carlyles, i. 68, 76. Argyle, Duke of, ii. 89, 273 Arnott, Dr., ii. 28 Ashburton, Lady (Lady Harriet Bar- ing), as a wit, ii. 60; intercourse with the Cariyles, ii. 99, 123, 126; death of, ii. 184. See also under Raring, Lady Harriet Ashburton, Louisa, Lady (The second Lady Ashburton), the Carlyles staying with, ii. 214; going to Nice, ii. 214 ; Carlyle on a visit to, at Mcntone, ii. 240; Carlyle vi.siting at Addiscombe, ii. 258; Carlyle staying with, ii. 263; tes- timony of Mary Aitken, ii. 278; her statuette of Carlyle by Boehm ii., 306; calls on Carlyle, ii. 331 Asiiburton (tlie first). Lord, the Car- lyles staying with, ii. 28; death of, ii. 66 Ashburton, Lord (Hon. W. B. Bar- ing), Carlyle staying with, ii. 06, 81, 138, 213; intercourse with the Carlyles, ii. 123, 126, 166: Carlyle 3U Index a member of t he At lienanim Club, ii. 145; going to Nice, ii. 214 Athol, Dowager Duchess of, ii. 253 Austin, James, Carlylc's brother in- law, i. 60, 77, 15G ; his appoint- meut, i. 28 Austin, Mrs. James, of the Gill. See under Carlyle (j\Iary). Bacon, Miss Delia, ii. 150 Baillie, Capt. James, ii. 249 Bain, ii. 89, 116, 266 Ballantyne, Thomas, Carl^'le's corre- spondence with, 1. 151, 180, 240, 245, 270, 278, 282, 317; 11. 20; in connection with the Leader, 11. 90 Bamford, Mr. Samuel, 1. 283 Baring, Uon. Mary, ii. 258, 331 Baring, Hon. W. B., the Carlyles on a visit to, Ii. 10 ; intercourse with the Carlyles, ii. 17; dinner for Emerson, 11. 58. See under Ash- burton, Lord Baring, Lady Harriet, intercourse with the Carlyles, 1. 155; Mrs. Carlyle staying with, 11. 17. See also binder Ashburton, Lady Baring, Hon. Emily, 11. 80 Barnes, Dr., 11. 217 Baxter's Life, Carlyle reading, i. 213 Bcgg, Widow (Burns's sister), pen- sion, 1. 264, 265 Bendysh, Mrs., 11. 1 Benvenuto Cellini, quotation from, 1. 151 Berners, Archdeacon, 11. 1 Bernstorff, Count and Countess, ii. 286 "Bield," Allck Carlyle's home, 11. 19 Bismarck, Buch des Graf en, 11. 260; Carlyle's letter to, 11. 319; Car- lyle's letter from, 11. 320 Blackie, 11. 267 Blaklston, Dr., 11. 217 Blaklston, Mrs. (Bessie Barnet), 11. 217 Rloomfield, Ambassador, 11. 137 " Bobus," Carlyle's horse, 1. 325 Bourke, ii. 74 Brandis, 11. 286 Bret Ilarte, 11. 282 Brludley, James, ii. 43 Bromley, Miss, 11. 264, 296 Brown, Dr. John, 11. 257 Browning, Robert, Carlyle's letters to, 1. 233, 239, 241, 311; Carlyle's opinion of his Sordcllo and IHpj)a Passes, 1. 233; his description of Carlyle, 1. 235, note; imsuccess- ful call on Carlyle, i. 241 ; inter- course with Carlyle, 11. 233, 253 Brownlow, Lord, 11. 245 Buchanan, Mr. James, 11. 138 BuUer, Arthur, i. 157 Buller, Charles, i. 188, ii. 66; death of, ii. 68 Buller, Reginald, the Carlyles staying with, 1. 268 Bulwer, Lady, Carlyle's description of her novel, 1. 159 Bulwer, Lytton, i. 16, 188 BuDsen, ii. 110, 129 Butler, Mrs., 1. 54 Calvert, Dr., death of, i. 249 Cambridge University offers Carlyle the loan of books, i. 147, 149 Campbell, Sir Colin, 11. 177 Canning, Sir Stratford, i. 166 Carlyle, Alexander (Allck), (Carlyle's brother), proposal to emigrate, 1. 61 ; Carlyle's letter to, concern- ing his American plans, i. 72, 73; Carlyle's offer to, i. 73; about to open a shop in Ecclefechan, 1. 84 established at Ecclefechan, 1. 104 preparing for America, i. 288 Mrs. Thomas Carlyle's postscript to, 1. 294; departure for America, i. 295; going to Canada, 1. 308; his mother's postscript to, ii. 5; Index 345 his home iu Canada, ii. 19; Car- lyle's box of presents to, ii. 26; his success, ii. 35< anecdote about, ii. 173; Carlyle's present to, ii. 206; his photograph, ii. 231; his old age, ii. 261; Carljie's offer to, ii. 262; failing, ii. 322; Carlyle's New Year's gift to, ii. 826 ; death of, ii. 328 ct seq.; Carlyle's de- scription of, ii. 330 Carlyle, Frank (Carlyle's uncle), ii. 201 Carlyle, Isabella (Jamie Carlyle's wife), death of, ii. 202 Carlyle, Jamie (Carlyle's brother), ii. 180; death of his wife, ii. 202; Carlyle's description of, ii. 229 Carlyle, Jane Welsh, illness, i. 12; at Templand, i. 15; at home again, i. 28, 32; translating Cavaignac's works, i. 34; ill with influenza, i. 54, 67; relapse, i. 58; illness, i. 63 ; Dr. Morrah attends, i. 67, 71 ; serious condition of, i. 71 ; satis- factory progress, i. 74 ; staying at Malvern, i. 81 ; note to Carlyle's mother, i. 91 ; improved health, i. 97; staying at Templand, 1. 167 ; negotiating for the publica- tion of Carlyle's Lectures, 1. 221 ; daguerreotype of, i. 232; at Newby, 1. 239; goes to Temp- land, i. 259; her mother's death, i. 260; ill in Liverpool, i. 260; staying at Reginald BuUer's, i. 268; postscript to Alick Carlyle, i. 294; visit to Lady Harriet Bar- ing, ii. 17, 20; staying witli the Paulets, ii. 22 ; at Matlock Batli, ii. 40 et Hcfj ; on a tour iu Derby shire, ii. 42 et seq.; on a visit to W. E. For.ster, ii. 44, returns home, ii. 47; revisiting Iladding ton. ii. 78; ill, ii. 92; her dog "Nero,"ii. 104, 108, 119, 121, 122; going to the Grange, ii. 118; to visit Dr. and Mrs. John Carlyle, ii. 151 ; her failing health, ii. 153 ; to stay with the Ashburtons, ii. 169; illness, ii. 186, 201; visiting the Misses Donaldson and Rev. Walter Welsh, ii. 187, 200; at Addiscombe, ii. 191 ; her weak- ness, ii. 197; her donkey, ii. 197; photographs of, ii. 212; staying with the Ashburtons, ii. 218; street accident, ii. 217 ; convales- cent at St. Leonard's, ii. 219; her companion, ii. 220; revisiting Thornhill, ii. 221 ; Dr. John Car- lyle to bring her home, ii. 223; death of, ii. 235 et seq.; photo- graph of, ii. 238; Reminiscences of, ii. 243 ; Letters and Memorials of, ii. 251 Carlyle, Jean (]Mrs. Aitken), i. 156; Carlyle's affection, forii. 67; Car- lyle sends copy of his medallion to ii. Ill; death of her son, ii. 183; death of her eldest son, ii. 279 ; at Cheyne Row, ii. 321 Carlyle, Jenny (Mrs. Robert Ban- ning), i. 10; her husband, i. 15, ii. 24; Carlyle staying with, at Dumfries, ii. 24; at Scotsbrig, ii. 49; sails for Canada, ii. Ill Carlyle, John (Carlyle's half-brother), i. 811; ii. 271, 281; death of, ii. 293 Carlyle, Dr. John, travelling physi- cian to Lady Clare, i. 2; Carlyle's confidence in, i. 6; his uncer- tainty, i. 8; in France, i. 42; gives Carlyle a horse, i. 160; medical attendant on an Irish gentleman, i. 183; daguerreo- type, i. 232; translating Dante, ii. 9, 14, 30, 59; offer for transla tion of Dante's Inferno, ii. 27; Carlyle's opinion of his Dante, ii. 34G liidex 67; Carlylc's mlvicp on the Pur- gatorio, ii. 89; his wife, ii. 146, 153; death of his wife, ii. 166; his stepsons, ii. 176 ; to bring Mrs. Carlyle home froni Thornhill, ii. 223; Ciirlyle seeks his advice on an investment, ii. 227 ; letter from Carlyle, ii. 234 ; staying with Car- lyle, ii. 236 Carlyle, Margaret, Carlyle refers to her death, ii. 3 Carlyle, Mary (Mrs. James Austin), i. 77, 223; ii. 180 Carlyle, Mrs. (Thomas Carlyle's mother), at Manchester, i. 23; letters to Carlyle, i. 44, 76, 217, 222; Carlyle's first letter sent by penny postage to, i. 179; portrait by Maxwell, i. 273, 287; Car- lyle's letter to, on Alick's depar- ture, i. 295; generous present to Alick, 1. 320; state of health, ii. 2, 49, 103; postscript to Alick, ii. 5; Carlyle's love for, ii. 31; Carlyle's present to, ii. 58; weak state of health, ii. 151 ; Carlyle's affection for, ii. 152; last illness and death, ii. 159 et seq.; Car- lyle's recollections of, ii. 163; photographs of, ii. 249 Carlyle, Phoebe, wife of Dr. John Carlyle, ii. 146, 152; death of, ii. 166 Carlyle, Thomas (son of Frank Car- lyle), ii. 211 Carlyle, Thomas, visit to Gravesend with John Mill, i. 2; tempera- mental dejection, i. 3, 8, 26, 31, 37,67,98, 111, 113, 313; ii. 3; at ■work on F)-ench Bewlution, i. 3, 15. 24, 30, 82; references to Goethe's Waldverwandtsckaften, Briefe ana der Schweitz, and Dich- tung unci WahrJieit, i. 6 ; code of communication on newspaper wrappers, i. 7; at work on Mira- bcau, i. 10; his Diamond iS'ecklace, i. 10; sees Figaro, i. 12; finishes Book I. of French Revolntion, i, 17, 20; description of London, i. 23, 48; sermon to Sterling, i. 26 ct seq.; on silence, i. 27; description of Hemusat's translation of Tlie Tico Fair Cousins, i. 29; opinion of style, i. 33; his article Histoire Parlementaire, i. 33, 40, 65; de- scription of Eckerman?i's Con- versations with Qocthe, i. 33, 38; resigns himself to the loss of Ster- ling's company, i. 36; success of Teufelsdrdekh in America, i. 40; portrait by Lewis, i. 41; letters from his mother, i. 44, 76, 217, 222 ; proposes to lecture on Oer- man Literature, i. 47, 62, 65, 66; pleasure at finishing French Revo- lution, i. 50; opinion of writing, i. 52; description of Sterling's elder brother, i. 53; re-arrange- ment of French Revolution, i. 55; arrangements for lecturing, i. 56; description of his FVench Revolu- tion, i. 59, 65; proposal of his holiday at Scotsbrig, i. 60; con- cerning Alick's proposal to emi- grate, i. 61, 64, 72; pleasure in review of Teufelsdrdekh, i. 65 ; on "fame," i. 66, 102; description of Rousseau, i. 66; sends for Mrs. Welsh, i. 68 ; description of poverty in England, i. 69; his outlook as a lecturer, i. 70; anx- iety about Mrs. Carlyle, i. 71, 90; instances of his generosity, i. 73, 95, 145, 224, 291, 302 ; ii. 18, 39, 58, 62, 92, 205, 207, 238, 240, 249; prophecy of trouble in the coun- try, i. 78; lectures on German Literature over, i. 78; proposed visit to Scotland, i. 79; journey Index 347 to Scotsbrig, i. 81 : description of reviews of French Revolution, 1. 83, 88; description of cholera abroad, i. 85, 86, 89 ; article on Sir Walter Scott, 1. 87, 93, 101 ; suc- cess of French Rewlution, i. 91, 94, 149; on "death," i. 96, 97; on Radicalism, i. 99; arrangements with Mill for articles, i. 101; preparations for his second course of lectures, i. 103; American pub- lication of his articles, i. 106, 107 ; studying Dante, i. 110; Ameri- can edition of French Rewlution, i. Ill, 117; his "heart's prayer," i. 114; to lecture on The Ilistory of Literature, i. 114; description of himself lecturing, 1. 121, 135; on "honesty," 1. 124; lectures on The Ilistory of Literature satisfac- torily over, i. 130 ; description of Queen Victoria's Coronation Pro- cession, i. 131; Laurence's por- traits of, i. 132, 134; ii. 23, 63; visiting Fergus of Kirkaldy, i. 134 et seq.; visit to Miuto Manse, i. 141 et seq.; article, Varnhagen ton Erne's Memoirs, i. 144; Car- lyle's Miscellanies published in America, i. 144, 145, 149 ; offer of books from Cambridge Univer- sity, i. 147, 149; scheme for Lon- don Public Library, i. 147, 150; reading for Crotawell, i. 147, 149, 213, 217, 219, 226, 246, 247, 272; opinion of his American friends, i. 149; proposes getting ahorse, i. 150; on the question of autobi- ography, i. 151 ; description of tlieir soiree, i. 155; plans for third course of lectures, i. 155; on dis- tress in the country, i. 156 et seq.; to lecture on Revolutions of Mod- em Europe, i. 157; popularity in America, i. 158; John's present of ahorse to, i. 160; description of his lectures, i. 161 ; article on the Woi'king Classes, i. 101, 103; at work on new edition of French Rewlution, 1. 163 ; proposes a lec- turing tour in America, i. 164; proposed visit to Scothiud, i. 165; article on Chartism, i. 166, 168, 173 ; staying at Templand, i. 167 ; reprinting of Wilhelm Meisicr, i. 168, 169; on translating Goethe's works, i. 172 ; publishes Chartism with Fraser, i. 176; preparing Essays for publication, i. 178; Carlyle's first letter sent by penny postage, i. 179; on Corn Laws, i. 180 et seq., 191 ; effect of penny postage on letter writing, i. 185 ; to lecture On Heroes, Hero- worsJiip and the Heroic in Human History, i. 189 ct seq.; methods of writing lectures, i. 192; on news- paper reports, i. 193 ; preparing his lectures for publication, i. 196, 207, 208; speech in connec- tion with London Library, i. 198 et seq.; his uncertain health, i. 201; riding tour, i. 203 et seq.; American missionaries visiting, 1. 209, 210; description of tem- perance work in London, 1. 210 ; reading Ba.vter's Life, i. 313; on the Puseyites, i. 215; on liberal political philosopliers, 1. 216, 217; comparison of French Revo- lution and Cromirell, i. 220; on tlie condition of France, i. 221 ; appreciation of his mother's let- ters, i. 223; opinion of EiJcon. Basilike, i. 226; arranges for pub lication of his Lectures and new edition of Sartor Resarlus with Fraser, i. 227; visiting Mr. Milnes, i. 227 et seq.; review of book, Lecturcn on Heroes, i. 229; 348 Index present of books from Viirn- l\!igeu von Euse, i. 230; on "prophcty," i. 230; apprcciatiou of Browning's talent, i. 233; at Scotsbrig, i. 235 ; on his London life, i. 23G; on Strauss, i. 238; at Newby, i. 239; interesting Corn-Law Conference, i. 240; Browning's unsuccessful call on, i. 2-11 ; on foreign literature, i. 242; reading correspondence of Goethe and Zelter, 1. 242, 244; interest in Emerson, i. 243; de- clines professorship at Edin- burgh, i. 244; on the condition of the workingman, i. 240; article, BailUc's Letters and Journals, i. 247; Cooper's portrait of Milton, i. 249; criticism of Sterling's Strafford, i. 251 et seq.; on Art, i. 254 ; second edition of his book, Lectures on Heroes, 1. 250; on Peel and Corn Laws, 1. 257 ; plac- ing his books in new hands, i. 258; at Templand for Mrs. Welsh's funeral, i. 200 et seq.; on "servitude,"!. 202; on "work," 1. 203 ; on distress of the coun- try, 1. 260 ; at a Corn-Law Con- ference, 1. 207 ; travels in connec- tion with Cromwell, i. 207-271; on condition of farm labourers, i. 270 ; portrait of his mother, i. 273, 287; description of Mar- heineke's Book, i. 275; opinion of Frau von Wollzogen's Life of Schiller, i. 275; on "translation," 1. 276; remembrance of Warwick Castle, i. 277; opinion of Emer- son's Essay, i. 278; at work on Pa^t and Present, i. 279, 281, 282, 283; adviceon reading, 1. 284; on the study of history, i. 285; his copyists, i. 288; offer to Alick on his departure for America, i. 291 ; writing an article on Dr. Francia, i. 290; on a visit to Charles Redwood in Wales, i. 290 etseq.; at Scotsbrig, i. 299; pro- posed visit to Naseby, i. 299; his new study, i. 310; decides to postpone Cromwell, 1. 303; at work on Cromwell's letters and speeches, i. 304 ; engraving of, i. 307, 308 ; makes a second attempt at Cromicell, i. 310; at work on. Cromwell, i. 315, 321; ii. 6; arti- cle, An Election to tlie Tjong Par- liament, i. 316; on Parks and Public Places of Recreation, i. 317; his forty -ninth birthday, i. 322; his horse "Bobus," 1. 325; At Scotsbrig, ii. 2; reading for Frederick tJie Great, ii. 7, 117, 118, 124, 125; visiting the Bar- ings, ii. 10, 17, 33; method of work, ii. 10 et seq.; on abolition of the Corn Laws, ii. 12, 16; on the state of the country, ii. 14 ; at work on second edition of Crom- well, ii. 15, 10, 21; description of Cobden, ii. 20; new editions of Miscellanies, Sartor Resartus, Heroes, and Fh'encli Revolution, ii. 21 ; going to the Paulets, ii. 22; his visits in Scotland, ii. 23, 24; goes home via Ireland, ii. 24, et seq.; a visit to Lord Ashburton, ii. 28; failure of the new servant, ii. 29; on the advantages of London, ii. 30 ; love for his mother, ii. 31 ; in- terview with Duke of Weimar, ii. 30 ; on planting fruit trees, ii. 38 ; on fever in Ireland, ii. 39; at Mat- lock Bath, ii. 40 ^^ seq.; on a tour in Derbyshire, ii. 42 et seq.; on a visit to Forster, ii. 44 ; on France, ii. 40; goes to Scotland, ii. 47; on corn failures, ii. 48; opinion of Forster's Life of Goldsmith, 11. Index 349 51 ; liis Squire Papers, ii. 53, 55 ; Christmas in London, ii. 54; on •'fame," ii. 55; on French riots, ii. 56; at the Barings' dinner for Emerson, ii. 58; opinion of Froude's JS^emesis of Faith, ii. 59; on Chartists, ii. 60; concerning French workmen, ii. 61; descrip- tion of Jenny Liud, ii. 64; opin- ion of John Carlyle's Bante, ii. 67; Ireland and tiir R. Peel, ii. 68; tour in Ireland, ii. 69 et seq.; Carrick's miniature of, ii. 70; on "hunting," ii. 81; Occasional Dis- course on the Nigc/er Question, ii. 82, 85, 86; Ditter-day PampJdets, ii. 85, 86, 88, 89, 90, 93, 97, 101; his "sect," ii. 86, 87; reading Vertot's Revolution of Sweden, ii. 88; opinion of Leigh Hunt's Au- tobiography, ii. 94; reference to Boswell's Life of Johnson, ii. 94; on Sir R. Peel's accident and death, ii. 98, 99 ; on a visit to Mr. Redwood in Wales, ii. 100; at Scotsbrig, ii. 102 ; description of Crystal Palace, ii. 106; on im- provement of prisons, ii. 107; at work on John Sterling's Life, ii. 107, 110, 111; on the experiment to prove the earth turns on its axis, ii. 108 ; at work on his Norse IIi.story, ii. 110; Industrial Ex- hibition, ii. 110; vi.sit to France, ii. 112 et seq.; reading Anglo- Noi"nian Antiquities, ii. 115; ref- erences to Hume's Ilistwy of England, Homer'.s Iliad, Robert- son's Scfdland, America, and Charles the Fifth, ii. 116; liis fifty-sixth birthday, ii. 119; revo- lution in Paris, ii. 119; Ma- caulay vi.siting, ii. 120; on sus- pected French invasion, ii. 1^3; on Derby-UiBrueli Ministry, ii. 124, 125, 141; election of the librarian, ii. 127 et seq.; on Me- moirs of Dr. Clialmers, ii. 130; opinion of Autobiography of Margaret Fuller, ii. 130 ; opinion of Lord Cockburu's Life of Jef- frey, ii. 131; alterations of the house, ii. 131 et seq.; tour in Ger- many, ii. 133 et seq.; on a visit to the Ashburtons, ii. 138; sleep disturbed by a cock, ii. 139; at work on A Day loith Frederick, ii. 141, 247; on the possibilities of Frederick the Great, ii. 142 ; on the new Ministry, ii. 143; at work on Frederick the Great, ii. 145, 149, 164, 178, 184, 185, 192, 209, 210, 222, 225; a member of the Athcnaium Club, iii. 145; on Ilayward's article on Disraeli, ii. 148; reprinting Biographi- cal Essays, ii. 149; staying at Addiscombe, ii. 155; his Amer- ican bonds, ii. 156 ; proposed for a pension, ii. 157; death of his mother, ii. 159 et seq.; recollec- tions of his mother, ii. 103; on Crimean War, ii. 165; interview with Prince Albert, ii. 167; on Sebastopol, ii. 169; anniversary of his mother's death, ii. 170; ac- cused of heterodoxy, ii. 170; arti- cle, Pnnzenraub, 11. 171 ; has photographs of his mother's ])or- trait taken, ii. 172; visit to Ed- ward Fit/.Gerald, ii. 174; opinion of Lewes' Goethe, il. 177; new edition of his Works, ii. 178; in Scotland, ii. 180; at Scotsbrig, ii. 181; visit to the Ashburtons in Scotland, ii. 181 ; visiting Eccle- fcchaii Cliurcliyard, ii. 182, 203; on raised prices, ii. 182; his secre- tary, ii. 184; gets a horse, ii. 1H4; riding l<)'itz, ii. 185; on the pros- / Q1-. 350 Index polity of the country, ii. 187; rcconiniendaliou of Lccaiia by Joan I'aul, imil W'ilhdta Afeister's Travels by Goethe, ii. ISO; on tmiuing- and cducalion of chil- dren, ii. 18!) ct acq.; at Addis- combe, ii. 191; oa the annoy- ances of a town, ii. 193; opinion of liis Frederick (he Great, ii. 193; on Baro7i Mil nchause)i,u. 194; on Mill's essay on Liberty, ii. 196; in Scotland, ii. 196; staying with Rev. Walter Welsh, ii. 200; de- scription of his visits in Scotland, ii. 201 et seq.; opinion of Dickens' Tale of Two Cities, ii. 205; Brit- ish public's treatment of, ii. 206; on a visit to Sir G. Sinclair, ii. 208; on Constable's History of Scottish Poetry, ii. 208; reading the Douglas Cause, ii. 209; pho- tographs of, ii. 212 ; staying with the Ashburtons, ii. 213; first school, ii. 214; on his sixty-sev- enth birthday, ii. 215; his horse, Fritz, falls, ii. 218; joins his wife at St. Leonard's, ii. 221 ; preparations for Mrs. Carlyle's return, ii. 224; finishes Fred- erick tlie Great, ii. 226; seek- ing Dr. John Carlyle's advice on an investment, ii. 227; intended visit to Dumfries, ii. 227 ; Wool- ner's bust of, ii. 227; at Scots- brig, ii. 228; to deliver his Rec- torial Address in Edinburgh, ii. 232; his seventieth birthda3^ ii. 232; opinion of Napier, ii. 234; death of his wife, ii. 235 et seq.; Dr. John Carlyle and Maggie Welsh staying with, ii. 230; pho- tograph of his wife, ii. 236; visit to Lady Ashburton at Mentone, ii. 240 et seq.; on Reeves' books, ii. 240 ; at work on Reminiscences of Jane Welsh Carlyle, ii. 243; re- turns to Cheyne Row, ii. 246; John Chorley's legacy to, ii. 246; article, Shooting Niagara and After, ii. 427; Watts' portrait of, ii. 249; farewell to students of Edinburgh College, ii. 250; at work on Letters and Memwials of Jane W. Carlyle, ii. 251 ; interview with Queen Victoria, ii. 252; re- visiting Addiscombe, ii. 258; at work on Library Edition of B^red- crick the Great, ii. 258; bequest to Harvard University, ii. 259; appreciation of Mary Aitken, ii. 262; staying at Lady Ashbur- ton's, ii. 263 ; opinion of Emer- son's Society and Solitude, ii. 266; on Work, ii. 268 ; visit to Dum- fries, ii. 270; at Craigenputtock, ii. 270; letters to the Times on the Franco-German War, ii. 272, 277 ; on Proude's Progress, ii. 272 ; revising his German translations, ii. 274; reading Moltke's Rus- sian-Turk War, 11. 275 ; on state of England, ii. 276; translating Icelandic story, ii. 280; writing on Erskine, ii. 281 ; opinion of Bret Uarte, ii. 292; at work on the commencement of the Early Kings of Norway, ii. 283 et seq., 285; opinion of Ruskin's works, ii. 284; interview with the Kais- erin of Deutschland, ii. 286; on solitude, ii. 288; at work on Schiller, ii. 288, 290, 295; reading Wdlsche Gust, ii. 292 ; death of his half-brother John, ii. 293; visit in Devonshire, ii. 294; makes his will, ii. 295 ; Cheyne Row, on his return, ii. 298; reading pam- phlets on Goethe's Faust, ii. 299; on Fitz James Stephen's lecture, ii. 300; description of Lanfrey's Index 351 Histoire de Napoleon 1., ii. 302; description of Drummondof Haw- thai'nden, ii 303 ; plans for statue of Knox, ii. 303 et seq., 306, 310, 311, 313; Prussian Order of Merit, ii. 305 ; sitting to Boehm for stat- uette, ii. 306 ; on a visit to Peter Swan, ii. 307; reading Sped- ding's Bacon, ii. 308; oHer of baronetcy and pension, ii. 310; improved health, ii. 312; at Beck- enham, ii. 313; opinion of His- toire de France by Jules Miche- let, ii. 314; translation of Goethe's Geistes-Epochen, ii. 316 ; opinion of Thucydides, ii. 317; accepts doctor's diploma from Harvard University, ii. 318 ; Bis- marck's letter to, ii. 320; eigliti- eth birthday, ii. 321 ; Edinburgh medal and address, ii. 322 et seq.; reading Plutarcli, ii. 322; at Forster's funeral, ii. 325; descrip- tion of Alick, ii. 330; letters to the Times on Russo-Turkish War, ii. 331; description of Life of a Scotch Naturalist, ii. 332; Millais' portrait of, ii. 332; choice of burial-place, ii. 333; opinion oi Suetonius, ii. 334; reading Gib- bon, ii. 334; description of The Hermits of Thebaid and L'His- taire d'un CrimA and Hanna's Erskine, ii. 335; reading. Swift's Oulliver, Essays, and Poems, Skel- ton's Mary Stuart, ii. 337; Glas- gow Bank failure, ii. 337; de- scription of Voltaire's Zaire, ii. 338; Mrs. Allingham's por- trait of, ii. 338; weakness, ii. 339; reading Life of Maylia- bi'cchi, ii. 340; description of St. Paul's Cathedral, ii. 340; reading Plutarch's Morals, ii. 341 Carrick, painting a miniature of Carlyle, ii. 70 Castlereagh, Lady, ii. 58 Cavaignac, Godefroi, gives the Car- lyles theatre tickets, i. 12; his English, i. 12; mother and sister, i. 16, 18; his manners, i. 19; in- tercourse with the Carlyles, i. 70, 84, 184, 205; ii. 112; his pam- phlet seized in Paris, i. 221 Cellini, see Benvenuto Chadwick, i. 69, 166 Chambers, Robert, ii. 126 Chapman, Frederick, to publish Lat- ter-day Pamphlets, ii. 85 ; reprints Biographical Essays, ii. 149; pub- lishing Carlyle's Works, ii. 179 Chapman, John, ii. 93 Changarnier, ii. 112 Cheyne Row, No. 24 (No. 5 for- merly), pronunciation of, i. 2; alterations in, ii. 131 et seq.; rent of, ii. 133; Carlyle's return, ii. 298; new system of drainage, ii. 308 Chopin, Frederic, ii. 62 Chorley, Henry, i. 158, ii. 98, 246 Chorley, John, ii. 153, 233; Carlyle at funeral of, ii. 345; legacy to Carlyle, ii. 246 Chorley, Miss Phoebe, i. 94 Citoyenne, Carij'le's horse, i. 169, 203 Clare, Lady, John Carlyle travelling physician to, i. 2; ii. 244 Clark, Sir James, i. 150; ii. 27 Clouden Bank, ii. 30 Clow, Tom, i. 64, 293 Cobden, Carlyle's description of, ii. 20 Cochrane, i. 320 Coleridge, Sir John, ii. 302 Cnlnmn, Mr. Henry, i. 293 Common, tenant of Craigenputtock, ii. 230 Comte, August, ii. 148 352 Index Constable's History of Scottish Poctri/, ii. 208 Cooper, the Chartist, ii. 140 Corrie, Carlyle's quotation from, i. 178 Crabbc, ii. 175 Craigenputtock, let, i. 120; ii. 230, 257 Craik. Sir Henry, intercourse with the Carlyles, i. 184; ii. 250 Craik, Miss Mary, Mrs. Carlyle's companion, ii. 220 Crawford, ii. 148 Crawford, Mrs., i. 88 Crichton, Mrs., i. 23; death of, i. 93 Croker, ii. 114 Cromwell, his house, i. 269; portrait of, in Warwick Castle, i. 277; Carlyle collecting his letters and speeches, i. 804; Cooper's por- trait of, i. 305; Carlyle's attempt to get his autograph, i. 311 ; por- trait of, ii. 8 Cromwell, Carlyle reading for, i. 147, 149, 213, 217, 219, 226, 246, 247, 372; Carlyle's travels in connec- tion with, i. 267-271 ; postpone- ment of, i. 303 ; Carlyle makes a second attempt at, i. 310; Carlyle at work on, i. 315, 321; ii. 6; publication of, ii. 8 ; portrait for, ii. 8; new edition of, ii. 13; re- views of, ii. 14 ; Carlyle at work on second edition, ii. 15, 16, 21 ; new edition in America, ii. 18; third edition of, ii. 82 Cunningham, Allan, intercourse with the Carlyles, i. 117; death of, i. 277 Cunningham, Dr., i. 277 Darwin, Chakles, ii. 314 Darwin, Erasmus, Carlyle's descrip- tion of, i. 110; present to Carlyle, i. 146 ; intercourse with the Car- lyles, i. 280 Davy. D. E. (riliaft. Dryasdust), i 321 De Quincey, Carlyle's description of, ii. 332 Derby, Lady, ii. 125 Devon, Lord, ii. 129 D'Ewes, Sir Symonds, his notes on the Long Parliament, i. 305 Dimnond Necklace, i. 10, 40, 50 Dickens, ii. 126,205, 250; Carlyle's comparison of Bret Harte with, ii. 282 Disraeli, offers Carlyle baronetcy and pension, ii. 300 Dodds, Rev. Mr., ii. 268 Donaldson, The Misses, Mrs. Carlyle visiting, ii. 187 Donaldson, Tom, ii. 214 Donne, ii. 130 Ducarel, Andre, Carlyle reading his Anglo-NoruMn Antiquities, ii. 115 Duffy, Sir C. Gavan, ii. 69, 78, 108 Duncan, Mr. George, ii. 266 Dunn, Mr., i. 173 Diirer, Carlyle's engravings by, i. 30; ii. 37 Dyce, ii. 233, 288 EccLEFECHAN, Alick's shop in, i. 84, 104 Eckermann's Conversations with Ooethe, Carlyle's description of, i. 33, 38 Ellen (Mitchell), a servant of the Car- lyles, bad habits, i. 218; her third trial, i. 220 Ellice, alias "the Bear," ii. 121, 123 Ellwood, Life of TJiomas, i. 153 Elwin, Rev. Mr., ii. 94 Ely, Carlyle's description of, i. 268 Emerson, Carlyle's appreciation of, i. 44; arranges for republishing French Bcvolution in America, 111, 117, 149; proposal concern- ing Tenfelsdrijckh, i. 130; encour- aging Carlyle to lecture in Amer- Index 353 ica. i 163, 164; his book, i. 203; Carlyle's opinion of his Essays, i. 231 ; his oration, i. 243 ; writing in the Dial, 1 245: Carlyle's opinion of his Essays, i. 278 ; ar- ranges for new edition of Crom- ?'"e?nn America, ii. 18; to lecture in England, ii. 32 ; on his way to England, ii. 50; the Barings' din- ner for, ii. 58; Lectures, ii. 84; concerning Carlyle's bequest to Harvard, ii. 264; Carlyle's opin- ion of his Society and Solitude, ii. 266 ; on his way to England, ii. 289; in Paris, ii. 296; in Eng- land, ii. 297 Emerson (jnr.), ii. 290 Erskine, !Mr. (Patterson), ii. 278 Erskine, Thomas, Carlyle's descrip- tion of, i. 109, 116, 118; inter- course with the Carlyles, ii. 32, 126, 215, 257, 258; death of, ii. 264; Carlyle writing on, ii. 281 Espiuasse, Francis, ii. 21, 51 Falk, ii. 299 Fenwick, Miss, i. 53 Fergus, John, Carlyle's description of, i. 135, 136 Fergus, Miss Elizabeth, i. 131, 136 Fergus, Miss Jessie, i. 136 Fergus, The, of Kirkaldy, Carlyle visiting, i. 134 et seq.; present to the Carlyles, i. 148 Ferguson, David, ii. 34 Fichte, Carlyle's description of, i. 216, 217 FitzGerald, Edward, Carlyle's cor- respondence with, concerning VromiccU, i. 272, 299, 303, 306, 815, 320, 824; ii. 1; with Carlyle in Ireland, ii. 71; Carlyle's visit to, ii. 174 Fonblanquc, i. 188 Forbes, Edward, ii. 28; Carlyle's opinion of his Life of Goldsmith, ii. 51 Forster, Jolm, gives the Carlyles an opera box, ii. 64; Carlyle's sym- pathy with, ii. 155; bad health, ii. 198; intercourse with the Car- lyles, ii. 231, 233, 290; makes arrangements for Carlyle with Chapman and Robson, ii. 251 ; ill, ii. 274; death of, ii. 325; bequest to Kensington Museum, ii. 333 Forster, W. E., in connection with Public Library scheme, i. 188; ii. 127; at Matlock with the Car- lyles, ii. 42; the Carlyles staying with, ii. 44 ; with Carljie in Ire- land, ii. 69, 70, 77 Fox's Book of Martyrs, i. 178 Foxton, Death of, ii. 273 Francia, Dr. Carlyle's article on, i. 296 Francis, John, i. 188 Eraser, James, proposal to print Teu- felsdrdckli and Review Articles, 1. 101, 102, 137; ill, i. 110; Carlyle publishes Cliartism with, i. 176; publishes Carlyle's Miscellanies, i. 193; hesitates to publish Car- lyle's Lectures, i. 201, 202; pub- lishes Carlyle's Lectures and new edition of Sartor Resartus, i. 227; death of, i. 256 Frederick the Great, Carlyle reading for, ii. 7, 117, 118, 124; Carlyle on the possibilities of, ii. 142; Carlyle at work on, ii. 145, 149, 164, 184, 185, 192, 209, 210, 222, 225; at the press, ii. 186; Carlyle finishes, ii. 226; Carlyle at work on Library Edition of, ii. 258; Prench Hemlution, Carlyle at work on, i. 3, 15, 24, 33; IJook I. finished, i. 17, 20; Carlyle fin- ishes, i. 50, 55; re-arrangement and printing of, i. 54 ct seq.; Car- 354 Index lylp's dcscriplion of, i. 59, 65; printing ol", liuishcd, i. 74; suc- cess of, i. 91, 94; possibilities of second edition of, i. 106, 163 ; new edition of, ii. 21 ; third edition of, ii. 33, 39 Freweu, ii. 70 Fritz, Carlyle's horse, ii. 185; falls, ii. 218 Fiothiugham, Rev. N. L., his review of Tcufelsdrockh, i. 65 Froude, instances of his inaccuracies, 1. 57; Carlyle's opinion of his Nenusis of Faith, ii. 59; inter- course with Carlyle, ii. 222, 231, 233, 252, 258, 267, 280, 331, 337; Carlyle on his Progress, ii. 272; laziness of, ii. 274; lecturing in America, ii. 289, 291, 292 Fuller, Miss Margaret, i. 246, ii. 32; Axitobiography of, ii. 130 GiiJSON, i. 18 Gilchrist, ii. 179, 209 Gillenbie, ii. 88 Gladstone, Rt. Hon. W. E., ii. 127, 129 Glover, Mr., ii. 167 Goethe, quotations from, i. 1, 30, 51; references to his Wahlverwandt- scluiften, Briefe aus der Schweitz, and Dichtung und Wahrlieit, i. 6 ; Carlyle's description of Ecker- mann's Conversations icith, i. 33, 38; Carlyle's opinion of Sterling's translation of Dichtung und Wahrheit, i. 172; Zelter's corre- spondence with, i. 242, 244; sends Carlyle Life of Schiller, i. 276; his ceutenniversary, ii. 82; Carlyle's recommendation of Wil- helrii Meister's Tra/cels, ii. 189; Mason Lodge, ii. 284; Carlyle reading pamphlets on his Fanst, ii. 299; Carlyle's translation of his Qeistes-Epochen, ii. 316 Graham of Burnswark, ii. 147 Grahame, Miss, ii. 66 Greg, ii. 148 Grey, Lord, ii. 121 Grieg, John, Carlyle writes to, con- cerning Alick, i. 64, 73, 292; Mrs. Carlyle's description of, i. 294 Griers, The, Carlyle's kindness to, i. 302; ii. 18, 31, 207 Grierson, Mrs. See under Tail, Mary Grote, Mr. and Mrs., ii. 253 Guizot, ii. 57 Gully, Dr., ii. 115 IIallam, Henry, i. 150, 166; ii. 128, 148 Hanna, William, D.D, ii. 130 Hanning, Mrs. Robert. See under Carlyle, Jenny Hare, Augustus, ii. 292 Hare, Julius, Ouesscs at Truth by, i. 6; Carlyle's description of, i. 204, 238 Head, Sir Francis, Carlyle's descrip- tion of, i. 70 Heath, Douglas, i. 149 Helen (Mitchell). See wider Ellen Herder, Life of, by his widow, i. 276 Hetherington, translating Stratiss, i. 238 Hicksons, Carlyle's visit to, i. 2 Holstein-Augustenburgh, Duke of, ii. 131 Holyoake, ii. 148 Horslcy, Inspector, ii. 74 Houghton, Lord. See under Milnes, Richard Monckton Humboldt, ii. 83 Hunt, Leigh, pension, i. 6; inter course with the Carlyles, i. 110, 125; concerning his Autobio- graphy, ii. 94, 95; death of, ii. 204 Hunt, Thornton, ii. 90, 93 Hunter, ii. 65 Index 355 Inglis, Sir R., i. 166 Ireland, Alexander, ii. 32; Carlyle's letter to, ii. 50 Irving, Edward, i. 5; quotation from, i. 279 Jardike, engineer, i. 139 Jeflfray, Mr., ii. 213 Jeffrey, Francis, intercourse with Carlyle, i. 143, 143; Lord Cock burn's Life of, ii. 131 Jeffs, ii. 149 Jewsbury , Geraldine, ii. 222, 227 ; her pension, ii. 274 Johnston, Surgeon, i. 137 Johnston, Jane, ii. 6, 214 Johnstone, James, i. 9; death of, i. 103 Johnstone, Mrs., of the Grange, ii. 35 Jones, ii. 127, 128 Jowett, Carlyle's description of, ii. 200 Kaiserin, Carlyle's interview with, ii. 286 Kemble, Mrs., ii. 220 Kenny, Carlyle's description of, i. 187 Kingsle}', Charles, ii. 114 Knox, Somerville portrait of, i. 208; jjlans for statue of, ii. 303 et seq., 306, 310, 311, 312; Bochm's statue of, ii. 338 Kossuth, ii. 114 Lainq, David, Carlyle's description of, i. 248; ii. 209, 248; death of, ii. 336 Lai