ON THE CHOICE OF BOOKS

 THOMAS CARLYLE

 _WITH A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR_

[Illustration: _No_. 5 _Great Cheyne Row. 

The Residence of Mr. Carlyle from_ 1834 _until his Death_]

 _A NEW EDITION_

 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY

[Illustration]

 CONTENTS. PAGE BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION 7

 ADDRESS DELIVERED TO THE STUDENTS OF EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY, APRIL 2, 1866 125

 THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR IN EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY 189

 FAREWELL LETTER TO THE STUDENTS 192

 BEQUEST BY MR. CARLYLE 195

 INDEX 201

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BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 

There comes a time in the career of every man of genius who hasdevoted a long life to the instruction and enlightenment of hisfellow-creatures, when he receives before his death all the honourspaid by posterity. Thus when a great essayist or historian lives toattain a classic and world-wide fame, his own biography becomes asinteresting to the public as those he himself has written, and bywhich he achieved his laurels. 

This is almost always the case when a man of such cosmopolitancelebrity outlives the ordinary allotted period of threescore yearsand ten; for a younger generation has then sprung up, who only hearof his great fame, and are ignorant of the long and painful stepsby which it was achieved. These remarks are peculiarly applicablein regard to the man whose career we are now to dwell on for a shorttime: his genius was of slow growth and development, and his fame waseven more tardy in coming; but since the world some forty years agofairly recognised him as a great and original thinker and teacher, few men have left so indelible an impress on the public mind, orhave influenced to so great a degree the most thoughtful of theircontemporaries. 

Thomas Carlyle was born on Tuesday, December 4th, 1795, atEcclefechan, a small village in the district of Annandale, Dumfriesshire. His father, a stone-mason, was noted for quickness ofmental perception, and great energy and decision of character;his mother, as affectionate, pious, and more than ordinarilyintelligent;[A] and thus accepting his own theory, that "the historyof a man's childhood is the description of his parents' environment, "Carlyle entered upon the "mystery of life" under happy and enviablecircumstances. After preliminary instruction, first at the parishschool, and afterwards at Annan, he went, in November, 1809, and whenhe was fourteen years old, to the University of Edinburgh. Herehe remained till the summer of 1814, distinguishing himself by hisdevotion to mathematical studies then taught there by ProfessorLeslie. As a student, he was irregular in his application, but when hedid set to work, it was with his whole energy. He appears to have beena great reader of general literature at this time, and the storiesthat are told of the books that he got through are scarcely to becredited. In the summer of 1814, on the resignation of Mr. Waugh, Carlyle obtained, by competitive examination at Dumfries, the post ofmathematical master at Annan Academy. Although he had, at his parents'desire, commenced his studies with a view to entering the ScottishChurch, the idea of becoming a minister was growingly distasteful tohim. A fellow-student describes his habits at this time as lonely andcontemplative; and we know from another source that his vacationswere principally spent among the hills and by the rivers of hisnative county. In the summer of 1816 he was promoted to the post of"classical and mathematical master" at the old Burgh or Grammar Schoolat Kirkcaldy. At the new school in that town Edward Irving, whoseacquaintance Carlyle first made at Edinburgh, about Christmas, 1815, had been established since the year 1812; they were thus broughtclosely together, and their intimacy soon ripened into a friendshipdestined to become famous. At Kirkcaldy Carlyle remained over twoyears, becoming more and more convinced that neither as minister noras schoolmaster was he to successfully fight his way up in the world. It had become clear to him that literature was his true vocation, and he would have started in the profession at once, had it beenconvenient for him to do so. 

[Footnote A: James Carlyle was born in August, 1758, and died January23, 1832. His second wife (whose maiden name was Margaret Aitken), wasborn in September, 1771, and died on Christmas Day, 1853. Therewere nine children of this marriage, "whereof four sons and threedaughters, " says the inscription en the tombstone in the burial-groundat Ecclefechan, "survived, gratefully reverent of such a father andsuch a mother. "]

He had already written several articles and essays, and a few of themhad appeared in print; but they gave little promise or indication ofthe power he was afterwards to exhibit. During the years 1820--1823, he contributed a series of articles (biographical and topographical)to Brewster's "Edinburgh Encyclopaedia, "[1] viz. :--

[Footnote 1: Vols. XIV. To XVI. The fourteenth volume bears at the endthe imprint, "Edinburgh, printed by Balfour and Clarke, 1820;" and thesixteenth volume, "Printed by A. Balfour and Co. , Edinburgh, 1823. "Most of these articles are distinguished by the initials "T. C. "; butthey are all attributed to Carlyle in the List of the Authors of thePrincipal Articles, prefixed to the work on its completion. ]

 1. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu 2. Montaigne 3. Montesquieu 4. Montfaucon 5. Dr. Moore 6. Sir John Moore 7. Necker 8. Nelson 9. Netherlands 10. Newfoundland 11. Norfolk 12. Northamptonshire 13. Northumberland 14. Mungo Park 15. Lord Chatham 16. William Pitt. 

The following is from the article on _Necker_:--

"As an author, Necker displays much irregular force of imagination, united with considerable perspicuity and compass of thought; thoughhis speculations are deformed by an undue attachment to certainleading ideas, which, harmonizing with his habits of mind, hadacquired an excessive preponderance in the course of his long anduncontroverted meditations. He possessed extensive knowledge, andhis works bespeak a philosophical spirit; but their great andcharacteristic excellence proceeds from that glow of fresh andyouthful admiration for everything that is amiable or august in thecharacter of man, which, in Necker's heart, survived all the blightingvicissitudes it had passed through, _combining, in a singular union, the fervour of the stripling with the experience of the sage_. "[A]

[Footnote A: "In the earliest authorship of Mr. Carlyle, " says Mr. James Russell Lowell, alluding to these papers, "we find some notobscure hints of the future man. The outward fashion of them is thatof the period; but they are distinguished by a certain security ofjudgment, remarkable at any time, remarkable especially in one soyoung. Carlyle, in these first essays, already shows the influence ofhis master Goethe, the most widely receptive of critics. In acompact notice of Montaigne there is not a word as to his religiousscepticism. The character is looked at purely from its human andliterary sides. "]

Here is a passage from the article on _Newfoundland_, interesting ascontaining perhaps the earliest germ of the later style:--

"The ships intended for the fishery on the southeast coast, arriveearly in June. Each takes her station opposite any unoccupied part ofthe beach where the fish may be most conveniently cured, and retainsit till the end of the season. Formerly the master who arrived firston any station was constituted _fishing-admiral_, and had by law thepower of settling disputes among the other crews. But the jurisdictionof those _admirals_ is now happily superseded by the regularfunctionaries who reside on shore. Each captain directs his wholeattention to the collection of his own cargo, without minding theconcerns of his neighbour. Having taken down what part of the riggingis removable, they set about their laborious calling, and must pursueit zealously. Their mode of proceeding is thus described by Mr. Anspach, _a clerical person, who lived in the island several years, and has since written a meagre and very confused book, which he callsa_ HISTORY _of it_. "

To the "New Edinburgh Review" (1821-22) Carlyle also contributedtwo papers--one on Joanna Baillie's "Metrical Legends, " and one onGoethe's "Faust. "

In the year 1822 he made a translation of "Legendre's Geometry, " towhich he prefixed an Essay on Proportion; and the book appeared ayear or two afterwards under the auspices of the late Sir DavidBrewster. [A] The Essay on Proportion remains to this day the mostlucid and succinct exposition of the subject hitherto published. 

[Footnote A: "Elements of Geometry and Trigonometry, " with Notes. Translated from the French of A. M. Legendre. Edited by David Brewster, LL. D. With Notes and Additions, and an Introductory Chapter onProportion. Edinburgh: published by Oliver and Boyd; and G. And W. B. Whittaker, London. 1824, pp. Xvi. , 367. Sir David Brewster'sPreface, in which he speaks of "an Introduction on Proportion, by theTranslator, " is dated _Edinburgh, August_ 1, 1822. ]

"I was already, " says Carlyle in his _Reminiscences_, "getting my heada little up, translating 'Legendre's Geometry' for Brewster. I stillremember a happy forenoon in which I did a _Fifth Book_ (or complete'doctrine of proportion') for that work, complete really and lucid, and yet one of the briefest ever known. It was begun and done thatforenoon, and I have (except correcting the press next week) neverseen it since; but still I feel as if it were right enough andfelicitous in its kind! I only got £50 for my entire trouble in that'Legendre;' but it was an honest job of work, honestly done. "[A]

[Footnote A: _Reminiscences by Thomas Carlyle_, Edited by JamesAnthony Froude. London: Longmans, Green and Co. , 1881, Vol. 1. , pp. 198-199. ]

The late Professor de Morgan--an excellent authority--pronounced ahigh eulogium upon this Essay on Proportion. 

In 1822 Carlyle accepted the post of tutor to Charles Buller, of whoseearly death and honourable promise, two touching records remain to us, one in verse by Thackeray, and one in prose by Carlyle. 

For the next four years Carlyle devoted his attention almostexclusively to German literature. 

His Life of Schiller first appeared under the title of "Schiller'sLife and Writings, " in the London Magazine. 

 Part I. --October, 1823. Part II. --January, 1824. Part III. --July, 1824. " August, 1824. " September, 1824. 

It was enlarged, and separately published by Messrs. Taylor andHessey, the proprietors of the Magazine, in 1825. 

The translation of "Wilhelm Meister, " in 1824, [A] was the first realintroduction of Goethe to the reading world of Great Britain. Itappeared without the name of the translator, but its merits were toopalpable to be overlooked, though some critics objected to the stronginfusion of German phraseology which had been imported into theEnglish version. This acquired idiom never left our author, even inhis original works, although the "Life of Schiller, " written but a fewmonths before, is almost entirely free from the peculiarity. "WilhelmMeister, " in its English dress, was better received by the Englishreading public than by English critics. De Quincey, in one of hisdyspeptic fits, fell upon the book, its author, and the translator, [B]and Lord Jeffrey, in the Edinburgh Review, although admitting Carlyleto be a talented person, heaped condemnation upon the work. 

[Footnote A: Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship. 3 Vols. , Edinburgh, 1824. ]

[Footnote B: Curiously enough in the very numbers of the "LondonMagazine" containing the later instalments of Carlyle's Life ofSchiller. ]

Carlyle's next work was a series of translations, entitled "GermanRomance: Specimens of the chief Authors; with Biographical andCritical Notices. " 4 vols. Edinburgh, 1827. The Preface andIntroductions are reprinted in the second volume of Carlyle'sCollected Works: the Specimens translated from Hoffmann and La MotteFouqué, have not been reprinted. 

"This, " says Carlyle, in 1857, "was a Book of Translations, not of mysuggesting or desiring, but of my executing as honest journey-work indefect of better. The pieces selected were the suitablest discoverableon such terms: not quite of _less_ than no worth (I considered) anypiece of them; nor, alas, of a very high worth any, except one only. Four of these lots, or quotas to the adventure, Musæus's, Tieck's, Richter's, Goethe's, will be given in the final stage of this Series;the rest we willingly leave, afloat or stranded, as waste driftwood, to those whom they may farther concern. "

It was in 1826 that Mr. Carlyle married Miss Jane Welsh, the onlychild of Dr. John Welsh, of Haddington, [A] a lineal descendant of JohnKnox, and a lady fitted in every way to be the wife of such a man. Forsome time after marriage he continued to reside at Edinburgh, butin May, 1828, he took up his residence in his native county, atCraigenputtoch--a solitary farmhouse on a small estate belonging tohis wife's mother, about fifteen miles from Dumfries, and in one ofthe most secluded parts of the country. Most of his letters to Goethewere written from this place. 

[Footnote A: Her father had been dead some seven years when Carlyleand she were married, and the life interest of her inheritance in thefarm of Craigenputtoch had been made over to her mother, who surviveduntil 1842, when it reverted to Carlyle. ]

In one of the letters sent from Craigenputtoch to Weimar, bearingthe date of 25th September, 1828, we have a charming picture of ourauthor's seclusion and retired literary life at this period:--

"You inquire with such warm interest respecting our present abode andoccupations, that I feel bound to say a few words about both, whilethere is still room left. Dumfries is a pleasant town, containingabout fifteen thousand inhabitants, and may be considered the centreof the trade and judicial system of a district which possesses someimportance in the sphere of Scottish industry. Our residence is notin the town itself, but fifteen miles to the north-west, among thegranite hills and the black morasses which stretch westward throughGalloway, almost to the Irish Sea. In this wilderness of heath androck, our estate stands forth a green oasis, a tract of ploughed, partly enclosed, and planted ground, where corn ripens, and treesafford a shade, although surrounded by sea-mews and rough-woolledsheep. Here, with no small effort, have we built and furnished a neat, substantial dwelling; here, in the absence of professorial or otheroffice, we live to cultivate literature according to our strength, and in our own peculiar way. We wish a joyful growth to the rose andflowers of our garden; we hope for health and peaceful thoughts tofurther our aims. The roses, indeed, are still in part to be planted, but they blossom already in anticipation. Two ponies, which carryus everywhere, and the mountain air, are the best medicines for weaknerves. This daily exercise--to which I am much devoted--is my onlyrecreation: for this nook of ours is the loneliest in Britain--sixmiles removed from any one likely to visit me. Here Rousseau wouldhave been as happy as on his island of St. Pierre. My town friends, indeed, ascribe my sojourn here to a similar disposition, and forbodeme no good result. But I came hither solely with the design tosimplify my way of life, and to secure the independence through whichI could be enabled to remain true to myself. This bit of earth is ourown; here we can live, write, and think, as best pleases ourselves, even though Zoilus himself were to be crowned the monarch ofliterature. Nor is the solitude of such great importance; for astage-coach takes us speedily to Edinburgh, which we look upon as ourBritish Weimar. And have I not, too, at this moment piled up uponthe table of my little library a whole cart-load of French, German, American, and English journals and periodicals--whatever may be theirworth? Of antiquarian studies, too, there is no lack. From some ofour heights I can descry, about a day's journey to the west, the hillwhere Agricola and his Romans left a camp behind them. At the foot ofit I was born, and there both father and mother still live to love me. And so one must let time work. "

The above letter was printed by Goethe himself, in his Preface toa German transition of Carlyle's "Life of Schiller, " published atFrankfort in 1830. Other pleasant records of the intercourse betweenthem exist in the shape of sundry graceful copies of verses addressedby Goethe to Mrs. Carlyle, which will be found in the collection ofhis poems. 

Carlyle had now fairly started as an original writer. From the lonelyfarm of Craigenputtoch went forth the brilliant series of Essayscontributed to the Edinburgh, Westminster, and Foreign Reviews, and toFraser's Magazine, which were not long in gaining for him a literaryreputation in both hemispheres. To this lonely farm came one day inAugust, 1833, armed with a letter of introduction, a visitor from theother side of the Atlantic: a young American, then unknown to fame, byname Ralph Waldo Emerson. The meeting of these two remarkable men wasthus described by the younger of them, many years afterwards:--

"I came from Glasgow to Dumfries, and being intent on delivering aletter which I had brought from Rome, inquired for Craigenputtoch. It was a farm in Nithsdale, in the parish of Dunscore, sixteen milesdistant. No public coach passed near it, so I took a private carriagefrom the inn. I found the house amid desolate heathery hills, wherethe lonely scholar nourished his mighty heart. Carlyle was a man fromhis youth, an author who did not need to hide from his readers, and asabsolute a man of the world, unknown and exiled on that hill-farm, asif holding on his own terms what is best in London. He was talland gaunt, with a cliff-like brow, self-possessed, and holding hisextraordinary powers of conversation in easy command; clinging to hisnorthern accent with evident relish; full of lively anecdote, and witha streaming humour, which floated everything he looked upon. His talkplayfully exalting the familiar objects, put the companion at onceinto an acquaintance with his Lars and Lemurs, and it was verypleasant to learn what was predestined to be a pretty mythology. Fewwere the objects and lonely the man, 'not a person to speak towithin sixteen miles except the minister of Dunscore; so that booksinevitably made his topics. 

"He had names of his own for all the matters familiar to hisdiscourse. 'Blackwood's' was the 'sand magazine;' 'Fraser's' nearerapproach to possibility of life was the 'mud magazine;' a piece ofroad near by that marked some failed enterprise was 'the grave of thelast sixpence. ' When too much praise of any genius annoyed him, heprofessed hugely to admire the talent shewn by his pig. He had spentmuch time and contrivance in confining the poor beast to one enclosurein his pen, but pig, by great strokes of judgment, had found outhow to let a board down, and had foiled him. For all that, he stillthought man the most plastic little fellow in the planet, and he likedNero's death, 'Qualis artifex pereo!' better than most history. Heworships a man that will manifest any truth to him. At one time he hadinquired and read a good deal about America. Landor's principle wasmere rebellion, and that he feared was the American principle. Thebest thing he knew of that country was, that in it a man can have meatfor his labour. He had read in Stewart's book, that when he inquiredin a New York hotel for the Boots, he had been shown across thestreet, and had found Mungo in his own house dining on roast turkey. 

"We talked of books. Plato he does not read, and he disparagedSocrates; and, when pressed, persisted in making Mirabeau a hero. Gibbon he called the splendid bridge from the old world to the new. His own reading had been multifarious. Tristram Shandy was one of hisfirst books after Robinson Crusoe, and Robertson's America an earlyfavourite. Rousseau's Confessions had discovered to him that he wasnot a dunce; and it was now ten years since he had learned German, bythe advice of a man who told him he would find in that language whathe wanted. 

"He took despairing or satirical views of literature at thismoment; recounted the incredible sums paid in one year by the greatbooksellers for puffing. Hence it comes that no newspaper is trustednow, no books are bought, and the booksellers are on the eve ofbankruptcy. 

"He still returned to English pauperism, the crowded country, theselfish abdication by public men of all that public persons shouldperform. 'Government should direct poor men what to do. Poor Irishfolk come wandering over these moors. My dame makes it a rule to giveto every son of Adam bread to eat, and supplies his wants to the nexthouse. But here are thousands of acres which might give them all meat, and nobody to bid these poor Irish go to the moor and till it. Theyburned the stacks, and so found a way to force the rich people toattend to them. '

"We went out to walk over long hills, and looked at Criffel, thenwithout his cap, and down into Wordsworth's country. There we satdown, and talked of the immortality of the soul. It was notCarlyle's fault that we talked on that topic, for he had the naturaldisinclination of every nimble spirit to bruise itself against walls, and did not like to place himself where no step can be taken. But hewas honest and true, and cognizant of the subtile links that bind agestogether, and saw how every event affects all the future. 'Christ diedon the tree: that built Dunscore kirk yonder: that brought you and metogether. Time has only a relative existence. '

"He was already turning his eyes towards London with a scholar'sappreciation. London is the heart of the world, he said, wonderfulonly from the mass of human beings. He liked the huge machine. Eachkeeps its own round. The baker's boy brings muffins to the window at afixed hour every day, and that is all the Londoner knows, or wishesto know, on the subject. But it turned out good men. He named certainindividuals, especially one man of letters, his friend, the best mindhe knew, whom London had well served. "[A]

[Footnote A: "English Traits, " by R. W. Emerson. First Visit toEngland. ]

"Carlyle, " says Emerson, "was already turning his eyes towardsLondon, " and a few months after the interview just described he didfinally fix his residence there, in a quiet street in Chelsea, leadingdown to the river-side. Here, in an old-fashioned house, built in thereign of Queen Anne, he and his wife settled down in the early summerof 1834; here they continued to live together until she died; and hereCarlyle afterwards lived on alone till the end of his life. 

With another man, of whom he now became the neighbour--Leigh Hunt--hehad already formed a slight acquaintance, which soon ripened intoa warm friendship and affection on both sides, in spite of theirsingular difference of temperament and character. 

"It was on the 8th of February, 1832, " says Mr. Thornton Hunt, "thatthe writer of the essays named 'Characteristics' received, apparentlyfrom Mr. Leigh Hunt, a volume entitled 'Christianism, ' for which hebegged to express his thanks. By the 20th of February, Carlyle, thenlodging in London, was inviting Leigh Hunt to tea, as the means oftheir first meeting; and by the 20th of November, Carlyle wrote fromDumfries, urging Leigh Hunt to 'come hither and see us when you wantto rusticate a month. Is that for ever impossible?' The philosopherafterwards came to live in the next street to his correspondent, inChelsea, and proved to be one of Leigh Hunt's kindest, most faithful, and most considerate friends. "[A]

[Footnote A: From "The Correspondence of Leigh Hunt, " edited by hiseldest son. London: Smith, Elder and Co. 1862. Vol. 1. , p. 321. ]

Mr. Horne tells a story very characteristic of both men. Soon afterthe publication of "Heroes and Hero Worship, " they were at a smallparty, when a conversation was started between these two concerningthe heroism of man. "Leigh Hunt had said something about the islandsof the blest, or El Dorado, or the Millennium, and was flowing on hisbright and hopeful way, when Carlyle dropped some heavy tree-trunkacross Hunt's pleasant stream, and banked it up with philosophicaldoubts and objections at every interval of the speaker's joyousprogress. But the unmitigated Hunt never ceased his overflowinganticipations, nor the saturnine Carlyle his infinite demurs to thosefinite flourishings. The listeners laughed and applauded by turns; andhad now fairly pitted them against each other, as the philosopher ofhopefulness and of the unhopeful. The contest continued with all thatready wit and philosophy, that mixture of pleasantry and profundity, that extensive knowledge of books and character, with their readyapplication in argument or illustration, and that perfect ease andgood nature which distinguish both of these men. The opponents were sowell matched that it was quite clear the contest would never come toan end. But the night was far advanced, and the party broke up. Theyall sallied forth, and leaving the close room, the candles and thearguments behind them, suddenly found themselves in presence of a mostbrilliant starlight night. They all looked up. 'Now, ' thought Hunt, 'Carlyle's done for! he can have no answer to that!' 'There, ' shoutedHunt, 'look up there, look at that glorious harmony, that sings withinfinite voices an eternal song of Hope in the soul of man. ' Carlylelooked up. They all remained silent to hear what he would say. Theybegan to think he was silenced at last--he was a mortal man. But outof that silence came a few low-toned words, in a broad Scotch accent. And who on earth could have anticipated what the voice said? 'Eh! it'sa sad sight!' Hunt sat down on a stone step. They all laughed--thenlooked very thoughtful. Had the finite measured itself with infinity, instead of surrendering itself up to the influence? Again theylaughed--then bade each other good night, and betook themselveshomeward with slow and serious pace. "[A]

[Footnote A: "A New Spirit of the Age, " by R. H. Home. London, 1844. Vol. . P. 278. ]

In 1840 Leigh Hunt left Chelsea, and went to live at Kensington, butCarlyle never altogether lost sight of him, and on several occasionswas able to do him very serviceable acts of kindness; as, forinstance, in writing certain Memoranda concerning him with the view ofprocuring from Government a small provision for Leigh Hunt's decliningyears, which we may as well give in this place:--

 MEMORANDA

 CONCERNING MR. LEIGH HUNT. 

"1. That Mr. Hunt is a man of the most indisputedly superior worth;a _Man of Genius_ in a very strict sense of that word, and in allthe senses which it bears or implies; of brilliant varied gifts, of graceful fertility, of clearness, lovingness, truthfulness; ofchildlike open character; also of most pure and even exemplary privatedeportment; a man who can be other than _loved_ only by those who havenot seen him, or seen him from a distance through a false medium. 

"2. That, well seen into, he _has_ done much for the world;--as everyman possessed of such qualities, and freely speaking them forth inthe abundance of his heart for thirty years long, must needs do: _how_much, they that could judge best would perhaps estimate highest. 

"3. That, for one thing, his services in the cause of reform, asFounder and long as Editor of the 'Examiner' newspaper; as Poet, Essayist, Public Teacher in all ways open to him, are great andevident: few now living in this kingdom, perhaps, could boast ofgreater. 

"4. That his sufferings in that same cause have also been great; legalprosecution and penalty (not dishonourable to him; nay, honourable, were the whole truth known, as it will one day be): unlegal obloquyand calumny through the Tory Press;--perhaps a greater quantity ofbaseless, persevering, implacable calumny, than any other livingwriter has undergone. Which long course of hostility (nearly thecruellest conceivable, had it not been carried on in half, or almosttotal misconception) may be regarded as the beginning of his otherworst distresses, and a main cause of them, down to this day. 

"5. That he is heavily laden with domestic burdens, more heavily thanmost men, and his economical resources are gone from him. For the lasttwelve years he has toiled continually, with passionate diligence, with the cheerfullest spirit; refusing no task; yet hardly able withall this to provide for the day that was passing over him; and now, after some two years of incessant effort in a new enterprise ('TheLondon Journal') that seemed of good promise, it also has suddenlybroken down, and he remains in ill health, age creeping on him, without employment, means, or outlook, in a situation of thepainfullest sort. Neither do his distresses, nor did they at any time, arise from wastefulness, or the like, on his own part (he is a man ofhumble wishes, and can live with dignity on little); but fromcrosses of what is called Fortune, from injustice of other men, frominexperience of his own, and a guileless trustfulness of nature, thething and things that have made him unsuccessful make him in reality_more_ loveable, and plead for him in the minds of the candid. 

"6. That such a man is rare in a Nation, and of high value there; notto be _procured_ for a whole Nation's revenue, or recovered when takenfrom us, and some £200 a year is the price which this one, whom wenow have, is valued at: with that sum he were lifted above hisperplexities, perhaps saved from nameless wretchedness! It is believedthat, in hardly any other way could £200 abolish as much suffering, create as much benefit, to one man, and through him to many and all. 

"Were these things set fitly before an English Minister, in whom greatpart of England recognises (with surprise at such a novelty) a man ofinsight, fidelity and decision, is it not probable or possible thathe, though from a quite opposite point of view, might see them insomewhat of a similar light; and, so seeing, determine to do inconsequence? _Ut fiat_!

 "T. C. "

"Some years later, " says a writer in "Macmillan's Magazine, "[A] "inthe 'mellow evening' of a life that had been so stormy, Mr. LeighHunt himself told the story of his struggles, his victories, andhis defeats, with so singularly graceful a frankness, that the mostsupercilious of critics could not but acknowledge that here wasan autobiographer whom it was possible to like. Here is Carlyle'sestimate of Leigh Hunt's Autobiography:--

[Footnote A: July, 1862. ]

 "Chelsea, June 17, 1850. 

"DEAR HUNT, "I have just finished your Autobiography, which has been mostpleasantly occupying all my leisure these three days; and you mustpermit me to write you a word upon it, out of the fulness of theheart, while the impulse is still fresh to thank you. This goodbook, in every sense one of the best I have read this long while, hasawakened many old thoughts which never were extinct, or even properlyasleep, but which (like so much else) have had to fall silent amid thetempests of an evil time--Heaven mend it! A word from me once more, Iknow, will not be unwelcome, while the world is talking of you. 

"Well, I call this an excellent good book, by far the best of theautobiographic kind I remember to have read in the English language;and indeed, except it be Boswell's of Johnson, I do not know where wehave such a picture drawn of a human life, as in these three volumes. 

"A pious, ingenious, altogether human and worthy book; imaging, withgraceful honesty and free felicity, many interesting objects andpersons on your life-path, and imaging throughout, what is best ofall, a gifted, gentle, patient, and valiant human soul, as it buffetsits way through the billows of the time, and will not drown thoughoften in danger; cannot _be_ drowned, but conquers and leaves a trackof radiance behind it: that, I think, conies out more clearly to methan in any other of your books;--and that, I can venture to assureyou, is the best of all results to realise in a book or writtenrecord. In fact, this book has been like an exercise of devotion tome; I have not assisted at any sermon, liturgy or litany, this longwhile, that has had so religious an effect on me. Thanks in the nameof all men. And believe, along with me, that this book will be welcometo other generations as well as to ours. And long may you live towrite more books for us; and may the evening sun be softer on you (andon me) than the noon sometimes was!

"Adieu, dear Hunt (you must let me use this familiarity, for I am anold fellow too now, as well as you). I have often thought of coming upto see you once more; and perhaps I shall, one of these days(though horribly sick and lonely, and beset with spectral lions, gowhitherward I may): but whether I do or not believe for ever in myregard. And so, God bless you, "Prays heartily, "T. CARLYLE. "

On the other hand Leigh Hunt had an enthusiastic reverence forCarlyle. There are several incidental allusions to the latter, of moreor less consequence, in Hunt's Autobiography, but the following is themost interesting:--

"_Carlyle's Paramount Humanity_. --I believe that what Mr. Carlyleloves better than his fault-finding, with all its eloquence, is theface of any human creature that looks suffering, and loving, andsincere; and I believe further, that if the fellow-creature weresuffering only, and neither loving nor sincere, but had come to a passof agony in this life which put him at the mercies of some good manfor some last help and consolation towards his grave, even at the riskof loss to repute, and a sure amount of pain and vexation, thatman, if the groan reached him in its forlornness, would be ThomasCarlyle. "[A]

[Footnote A: "Autobiography of Leigh Hunt, with Reminiscences offriends and Contemporaries. " (Lond. 1850. )]

It was in "Leigh Hunt's Journal, "--a short-lived Weekly Miscellany(1850--1851)--that Carlyle's sketch, entitled "Two Hundred and FiftyYears Ago, "[A] first appeared. 

[Footnote A: "Two Hundred and Fifty Years Ago. From a waste paper bagof T. Carlyle. " Reprinted in Carlyle's Miscellanies, Ed. 1857. ]

It was during his residence at Craigenputtoch that "Sartor Resartus"("The Tailor Done Over, " the name of an old Scotch ballad) waswritten, which, after being rejected by several publishers, finallymade its appearance in "Eraser's Magazine, " 1833--34. The book, itmust be confessed, might well have puzzled the critical gentlemen--the"book-tasters"--who decide for publishers what work to print amongthose submitted in manuscript. It is a sort of philosophical romance, in which the author undertakes to give, in the form of a review of aGerman work on dress, and in a notice of the life of the writer, hisown opinions upon matters and things in general. The hero, ProfessorTeufelsdroeckh ("Devil's Dirt"), seems to be intended for a portraitof human nature as affected by the moral influence to which acultivated mind would be exposed by the transcendental philosophy ofFichte. Mr. Carlyle works out his theory--the clothes philosophy--andfinds the world false and hollow, our institutions mere worn-out ragsor disguises, and that our only safety lies in flying from falsehoodto truth, and becoming in harmony with the "divine idea. " There ismuch fanciful, grotesque description in "Sartor, " with deep thoughtand beautiful imagery. "In this book, " wrote John Sterling, "we alwaysfeel that there is a mystic influence around us, bringing out intosharp homely clearness what is noblest in the remote and infinite, exalting into wonder what is commonest in the dust and toil of everyday. "

"Sartor" found but few admirers; those readers, however, were firm andenthusiastic in their applause. In 1838 the "Sartor Resartus" papers, already republished in the United States, were issued in a collectedform here; and in 1839-1840 his various scattered articlesin periodicals, after having similarly received the honour ofrepublication in America, were published here, first in four andafterwards in five volumes, under the title of "Miscellanies. "

It was in the spring of 1837 that Carlyle's first great historicalwork appeared, "The French Revolution:--Vol. I. , The Bastile; Vol. II, The Constitution; Vol. III. , The Guillotine. " The publication of thisbook produced a profound impression on the public mind. A historyabounding in vivid and graphic descriptions, it was at the same timea gorgeous "prose epic. " It is perhaps the most readable of allCarlyle's works, and indeed is one of the most remarkable books of theage. There is no other account of the French Revolution that can becompared with it for intensity of feeling and profoundness of thought. 

A great deal of information respecting Carlyle's manner of living andpersonal history during these earlier years in London may be gleanedincidentally from his "Life of John Sterling, " a book, which, from thenature of it, is necessarily partly autobiographical. 

Thomas Moore and others met him sometimes in London society at thistime. Moore thus briefly chronicles a breakfast at Lord Houghton's, atwhich Carlyle was present:--

"22nd May, 1838. --Breakfasted at Milnes', and met rather a remarkableparty, consisting of Savage, Landor, and Carlyle (neither of whomI had ever seen before), Robinson, Rogers, and Rice. A good deal ofconversation between Robinson and Carlyle about German authors, ofwhom I knew nothing, nor (from what they paraded of them) felt that Ihad lost much by my ignorance. "[A]

[Footnote A: Diary of Thomas Moore. (Lond. 1856. ) Vol. Vii. , p. 224]

In 1835, after the publication of "Sartor Resartus, " Carlyle receivedan invitation from some American admirers of his writings, to visittheir country, and he contemplated doing so, but his labours inexamining and collecting materials for his great work on "The FrenchRevolution, " then hastening towards completion, prevented him. 

We may say that, for many reasons, it is to be regretted that thisdesign was never carried into execution. Had Carlyle witnessed withhis own eyes the admirable working of democratic institutions in theUnited States, he might have done more justice to our Transatlanticbrethren, who were always his first and foremost admirers, and hemight also have acquired more faith in the future destinies of his owncountrymen. 

In December, 1837, Carlyle wrote a very remarkable letter to acorrespondent in India, which has never been printed in his works, and which we are enabled to give here entire. It is addressed to MajorDavid Lester Richardson, in acknowledgment of his "Literary Leaves, or Prose and Verse, " published at Calcutta in 1836. These "LiteraryLeaves" contain among other things an article on the Italian Opera(taking much the same view of it as Carlyle does), and a sketch ofEdward Irving. These papers no doubt pleased Carlyle, and perhaps ledhim to entertain a rather exaggeratedly high opinion of the rest ofthe book. 

 THOMAS CARLYLE TO DAVID LESTER RICHARDSON. 

 "5, Cheyne Row, Chelsea, London, "_19th December_, 1837. 

"My DEAR SIR, "Your courteous gift, with the letter accompanying it, reached me onlyabout a week ago, though dated 20th of June, almost at the oppositepoint of the year. Whether there has been undue delay or not isunknown to me, but at any rate on my side there ought to be no delay. 

"I have read your volume--what little of it was known to me before, and the much that was not known--I can say, with true pleasure. Itis written, as few volumes in these days are, with fidelity, withsuccessful care, with insight and conviction as to matter, withclearness and graceful precision as to manner: in a word, it is theimpress of a mind stored with elegant accomplishments, gifted withan eye to see, and a heart to understand; a welcome, altogetherrecommendable book. More than once I have said to myself and others, How many parlour firesides are there this winter in England, at whichthis volume, could one give credible announcement of its quality, would be right pleasant company? There are very many, _could_ one givethe announcement: but no such announcement _can_ be given; thereforethe parlour firesides must even put up with ---- or what other stuffchance shovels in their way, and read, though with malediction all thetime. It is a great pity, but no man can help it. We are now arrivedseemingly pretty near the point when all criticism and proclamationin matters literary has degenerated into an inane jargon, incredible, unintelligible, inarticulate as the cawing of choughs and rooks; andmany things in that as in other provinces, are in a state of painfuland rapid transition. A good book has no way of recommending itselfexcept slowly and as it were accidentally from hand to hand. The manthat wrote it must abide his time. He needs, as indeed all men do, the_faith_ that this world is built not on falsehood and jargon but ontruth and reason; that no good thing done by any creature of God was, is, or ever can be _lost_, but will verily do the service appointedfor it, and be found among the general sum-total and all of thingsafter long times, nay after all time, and through eternity itself. Lethim 'cast his bread upon the waters, ' therefore, cheerful of heart;'he will find it after many days. '

"I know not why I write all this to you; it comes very spontaneouslyfrom me. Let it be your satisfaction, the highest a man can have inthis world, that the talent entrusted to you did not lie useless, but was turned to account, and proved itself to be a talent; and the'publishing world' can receive it altogether according to their ownpleasure, raise it high on the housetops, or trample it low into thestreet-kennels; that is not the question at all, the _thing_ remainsprecisely what it was after never such raising and never suchdepressing and trampling, there is no change whatever in _it_. I bidyou go on, and prosper. 

"One thing grieves me: the tone of sadness, I might say of settledmelancholy that runs through all your utterances of yourself. It isnot right, it is wrong; and yet how shall I reprove you? If you knewme, you would triumphantly[A] for any spiritual endowment bestowedon a man, that it is accompanied, or one might say _preceded_ as thefirst origin of it, always by a delicacy of organisation which ina world like ours is sure to have itself manifoldly afflicted, tormented, darkened down into sorrow and disease. You feel yourself anexile, in the East; but in the West too it is exile; I know not whereunder the sun it is not exile. Here in the Fog Babylon, amid mudand smoke, in the infinite din of 'vociferous platitude, ' and quackoutbellowing quack, with truth and pity on all hands ground under thewheels, can one call it a home, or a world? It is a waste chaos, wherewe have to swim painfully for our life. The utmost a man can do isto swim there like a man, and hold his peace. For this seems to mea great truth, in any exile or chaos whatsoever, that sorrow was notgiven us for sorrow's sake, but always and infallibly as a lesson tous from which we are to learn somewhat: and which, the somewhatonce _learned_, ceases to be sorrow. I do believe this; and studyin general to 'consume my own smoke, ' not indeed without very uglyout-puffs at times! Allan Cunningham is the best, he tells me thatalways as one grows older, one grows happier: a thing also which Ireally can believe. But as for you, my dear sir, you have other workto do in the East than grieve. Are there not beautiful things there, glorious things; wanting only an eye to note them, a hand to recordthem? If I had the command over you, I would say, read _Paul etVirginie_, then read the _Chaumière Indienne_; gird yourself togetherfor a right effort, and go and do likewise or better! I mean what Isay. The East has its own phases, there are things there which theWest yet knows not of; and one heaven covers both. He that has an eyelet him look!

[Footnote A: There seems to be some omission or slip of the pen here. ]

"I hope you forgive me this style I have got into. It seems to me onreading your book as if we had been long acquainted in some measure;as if one might speak to you right from the heart. I hope we shallmeet some day or other. I send you my constant respect and goodwishes; and am and remain, "Yours very truly always, "T. CARLYLE. "

Carlyle first appeared as a lecturer in 1837. His first course was on'German Literature, ' at Willis's Rooms; a series of six lectures, ofwhich the first was thus noticed in the _Spectator_ of Saturday, May6, 1837. [A]

[Footnote A: Facsimiled in "The Autographic Mirror, " July, 1865. ]

"_Mr. Thomas Carlyle's Lectures_. 

"Mr. Carlyle delivered the first of a course of lectures on GermanLiterature, at Willis's Rooms, on Tuesday, to a very crowded and yeta select audience of both sexes. Mr. Carlyle may be deficient in themere mechanism of oratory; but this minor defect is far more thancounterbalanced by his perfect mastery of his subject, the originalityof his manner, the perspicuity of his language, his simple but genuineeloquence, and his vigorous grasp of a large and difficult question. No person of taste or judgment could hear him without feeling that thelecturer is a man of genius, deeply imbued with his great argument. "

"This course of lectures, " says a writer already quoted, "was wellattended by the fashionables of the West End; and though they sawin his manner something exceedingly awkward, they could not fail todiscern in his matter the impress of a mind of great originality andsuperior gifts. "[A]

[Footnote A: JAMES GRANT: "Portraits of Public Characters. " (Lond. 1841. ) Vol. Ii. , p. 152. ]

The following year he delivered a second course on the 'History ofLiterature, or the Successive Periods of European Culture, ' atthe Literary Institution in Edwards-street, Portman-square. 'TheRevolutions of Modern Europe' was the title given to the third course, delivered twelve months later. The fourth and last series, of sixlectures, is the best remembered, 'Heroes and Hero-worship. ' Thiscourse alone was published, and it became more immediately popularthan any of the works which had preceded it. Concerning theselectures, Leigh Hunt remarked that it seemed "as if some Puritanhad come to life again, liberalized by German philosophy and his ownintense reflections and experience. " Another critic, a Scotch writer, could see nothing but wild impracticability in them, and exclaimed, "Can any living man point to a single practical passage in any ofthese lectures? If not, what is the real value of Mr. Carlyle'steachings? What is Mr. Carlyle himself but a phantasm!"

The vein of Puritanism running through his writings, composed uponthe model of the German school, impressed many critics with the beliefthat their author, although full of fire and energy, was perplexed andembarrassed with his own speculations. Concerning this Puritan elementin his reflections, Mr. James Hannay remarks, "That earnestness, thatgrim humour--that queer, half-sarcastic, half-sympathetic fun--isquite Scotch. It appears in Knox and Buchanan, and it appears inBurns. I was not surprised when a school-fellow of Carlyle's told methat his favourite poem was, when a boy, 'Death and Doctor Hornbook. 'And if I were asked to explain this originality, I should say that hewas a covenanter coming in the wake of the eighteenth century and thetranscendental philosophy. He has gone into the hills against 'shams, 'as they did against Prelacy, Erastianism, and so forth. But he livesin a quieter age, and in a literary position. So he can give playto the humour which existed in them as well, and he overflows witha range of reading and speculation to which they were necessarilystrangers. "

'Chartism, ' published in 1839, and which, to use the words of a criticof the time, was the publication in which "he first broke ground onthe Condition of England question, " appeared a short time before thelectures on 'Heroes and Hero-worship' were delivered. If weremember rightly, Mr. Carlyle gave forth "those grand utterances"extemporaneously and without an abstract, notes, or a reminder of anykind--utterances not beautiful to the flunkey-mind, or valet-soul, occupied mainly with the fold of the hero's necktie, and the cutof his coat. Flunkey-dom, by one of its mouthpieces, thus speaks ofthem:--

"Perhaps his course for the present year, which was on Hero-worship, was better attended than any previous one. Some of those who werepresent estimated the average attendance at three hundred. Theychiefly consisted of persons of rank and wealth, as the number ofcarriages which each day waited the conclusion of the lecture toreceive Mr. Carlyle's auditors, and to carry them to their homes, conclusively testified. The locality of Mr. Carlyle's lectures has, Ibelieve, varied every year. The Hanover Rooms, Willis's Rooms, anda place in the north of London, the name of which I forget, haveseverally been chosen as the place whence to give utterance to hisprofound and original trains of thought. 

"A few words will be expected here as to Mr. Carlyle's manner as alecturer. In so far as his mere manner is concerned, I can scarcelybestow on him a word of commendation. There is something in his mannerwhich, if I may use a rather quaint term, must seem very uncouth toLondon audiences of the most respectable class, _accustomed as theyare to the polished deportment[A] which is usually exhibited inWillis's or the Hanover Rooms_. When he enters the room, and proceedsto the sort of rostrum whence he delivers his lectures, he is, according to the usual practice in such cases, generally receivedwith applause; but he very rarely takes any more notice of the markof approbation thus bestowed upon him, than if he were altogetherunconscious of it. And the same seeming want of respect for hisaudience, or, at any rate, the same disregard for what I believehe considers the troublesome forms of politeness, is visible at thecommencement of his lecture. Having ascended his desk, he gives ahearty rub to his hands, and plunges at once into his subject. Hereads very closely, which, indeed, must be expected, consideringthe nature of the topics which he undertakes to discuss. He is notprodigal of gesture with his arms or body; but there is something inhis eye and countenance which indicates great earnestness of purpose, and the most intense interest in his subject. _You can almost fancy, in some of his more enthusiastic and energetic moments, that yousee his inmost soul in his face_. At times, indeed very often, he sounnaturally distorts his features, as to give to his countenance avery unpleasant expression. On such occasions, you would imagine thathe was suddenly seized with some violent paroxysms of pain. _He isone of the most ungraceful speakers I have ever heard address a publicassemblage of persons_. In addition to the awkwardness of his generalmanner, he 'makes mouths, ' which would of themselves be sufficient tomar the agreeableness of his delivery. And his manner of speaking, andthe ungracefulness of his gesticulation, are greatly aggravated byhis strong Scotch accent. Even to the generality of Scotchmen hispronunciation is harsh in no ordinary degree. Need I say, then, whatit must be to an English ear?

[Footnote A: Shade of Mr. Turveydrop senior, hear this man!]

"I was present some months ago, during the delivery of a speech by Mr. Carlyle at a meeting held in the Freemasons' Tavern, for the purposeof forming a metropolitan library; and though that speech did notoccupy in its delivery more than five minutes, he made use of some ofthe most extraordinary phraseology I ever heard employed by ahuman being. He made use of the expression 'this London, ' which hepronounced 'this Loondun, ' four or five times--a phrase which gratedgrievously on the ears even of those of Mr. Carlyle's own countrymenwho were present, and which must have sounded doubly harsh in the earsof an Englishman, considering the singularly broad Scotch accent withwhich he spoke. 

"A good deal of uncertainty exists as to Mr. Carlyle's religiousopinions. I have heard him represented as a firm and entire believerin revelation, and I have heard it affirmed with equal confidence thathe is a decided Deist. My own impression is, " &c. [A]

[Footnote A: "Portraits of Public Characters, " by the author of"Random Recollections of the Lords and Commons. " Vol. Ii. Pp. 152-158. ]

In 1841 Carlyle superintended the publication of the Englishedition of his friend Emerson's Essays, [B] to which he prefixed acharacteristic Preface of some length. 

[Footnote B: Essays: by R. W. Emerson, of Concord, Massachusetts. WithPreface by Thomas Carlyle. London: James Fraser, 1841. ]

"The name of Ralph Waldo Emerson, " he writes, "is not entirely newin England: distinguished travellers bring us tidings of such a man;fractions of his writings have found their way into the hands ofthe curious here; fitful hints that there is, in New England, somespiritual notability called Emerson, glide through Reviews andMagazines. Whether these hints were true or not true, readers are nowto judge for themselves a little better. 

"Emerson's writings and speakings amount to something: and yethitherto, as seems to me, this Emerson is perhaps far less notable forwhat he has spoken or done, than for the many things he has not spokenand has forborne to do. With uncommon interest I have learned thatthis, and in such a never-resting, locomotive country too, is one ofthose rare men who have withal the invaluable talent of sitting still!That an educated man, of good gifts and opportunities, after lookingat the public arena, and even trying, not with ill success, what itstasks and its prizes might amount to, should retire for long yearsinto rustic obscurity; and, amid the all-pervading jingle of dollarsand loud chaffering of ambitions and promotions, should quietly, with cheerful deliberateness, sit down to spend _his_ life not inMammon-worship, or the hunt for reputation, influence, place, or anyoutward advantage whatsoever: this, when we get a notice of it, is athing really worth noting. "

In 1843, "Past and Present" appeared--a work without the wild powerwhich "Sartor Resartus" possessed over the feelings of the reader, but containing passages which look the same way, and breathe thesame spirit. The book contrasts, in a historico-philosophical spirit, English society in the Middle Ages, with English society in our ownday. In both this and the preceding work the great measures advisedfor the amelioration of the people are education and emigration. 

Another very admirable letter, addressed by Mr. Carlyle in 1843 to ayoung man who had written to him desiring his advice as to a properchoice of reading, and, it would appear also, as to his conduct ingeneral, we shall here bring forth from its hiding-place in an oldScottish newspaper of a quarter of a century ago:--

"DEAR SIR, "Some time ago your letter was delivered me; I take literally thefirst free half-hour I have had since to write you a word of answer. 

"It would give me true satisfaction could any advice ofmine contribute to forward you in your honourable course ofself-improvement, but a long experience has taught me that advice canprofit but little; that there is a good reason why advice is so seldomfollowed; this reason namely, that it is so seldom, and can almostnever be, rightly given. No man knows the state of another; it isalways to some more or less imaginary man that the wisest and mosthonest adviser is speaking. 

"As to the books which you--whom I know so little of--should read, there is hardly anything definite that can be said. For one thing, youmay be strenuously advised to keep reading. Any good book, any bookthat is wiser than yourself, will teach you something--a great manythings, indirectly and directly, if your mind be open to learn. This old counsel of Johnson's is also good, and universallyapplicable:--'Read the book you do honestly feel a wish and curiosityto read. ' The very wish and curiosity indicates that you, then andthere, are the person likely to get good of it. 'Our wishes arepresentiments of our capabilities;' that is a noble saying, of deepencouragement to all true men; applicable to our wishes and efforts inregard to reading as to other things. Among all the objects that lookwonderful or beautiful to you, follow with fresh hope the one whichlooks wonderfullest, beautifullest. You will gradually find, byvarious trials (which trials see that you make honest, manful ones, not silly, short, fitful ones), what _is_ for you the wonderfullest, beautifullest--what is _your_ true element and province, and be ableto profit by that. True desire, the monition of nature, is much to beattended to. But here, also, you are to discriminate carefully between_true_ desire and false. The medical men tell us we should eat whatwe _truly_ have an appetite for; but what we only _falsely_ have anappetite for we should resolutely avoid. It is very true; and flimsy, desultory readers, who fly from foolish book to foolish book, and getgood of none, and mischief of all--are not these as foolish, unhealthyeaters, who mistake their superficial false desire after spiceries andconfectioneries for their real appetite, of which even they arenot destitute, though it lies far deeper, far quieter, after solidnutritive food? With these illustrations, I will recommend Johnson'sadvice to you. 

"Another thing, and only one other, I will say. All books are properlythe record of the history of past men--what thoughts past men had inthem--what actions past men did: the summary of all books whatsoeverlies there. It is on this ground that the class of books specificallynamed History can be safely recommended as the basis of all study ofbooks--the preliminary to all right and full understanding of anythingwe can expect to find in books. Past history, and especially the pasthistory of one's own native country, everybody may be advised to beginwith that. Let him study that faithfully; innumerable inquiries willbranch out from it; he has a broad-beaten highway, from which allthe country is more or less visible; there travelling, let him choosewhere he will dwell. 

"Neither let mistakes and wrong directions--of which every man, inhis studies and elsewhere, falls into many--discourage you. There isprecious instruction to be got by finding that we are wrong. Let aman try faithfully, manfully, to be right, he will grow daily moreand more right. It is, at bottom, the condition which all men haveto cultivate themselves. Our very walking is an incessant falling--afalling and a catching of ourselves before we come actually to thepavement!--it is emblematic of all things a man does. 

"In conclusion, I will remind you that it is not by books alone, orby books chiefly, that a man becomes in all points a man. Study to dofaithfully whatsoever thing in your actual situation, there and now, you find either expressly or tacitly laid to your charge; that isyour post; stand in it like a true soldier. Silently devour the manychagrins of it, as all human situations have many; and see you aim notto quit it without doing all that _it_, at least, required of you. A man perfects himself by work much more than by reading. They are agrowing kind of men that can wisely combine the two things--wisely, valiantly, can do what is laid to their hand in their present sphere, and prepare themselves withal for doing other wider things, if suchlie before them. 

"With many good wishes and encouragements, I remain, yours sincerely, "THOMAS CARLYLE. 

 "Chelsea, 13th March, 1843. "

The publication of "Past and Present" elicited a paper "On the Geniusand Tendency of the Writings of Thomas Carlyle, " from Mazzini, whichappeared in the "British and Foreign Review, " of October, 1843. [A] Itis a candid and thoughtful piece of criticism, in which the writer, while striving to do justice to Carlyle's genius, protests stronglyand uncompromisingly against the tendency of his teaching. 

[Footnote A: Reprinted in the "Life and Writings of Joseph Mazzini. "(London, 1867). Vol. Iv. Pp. 56-144. ]

Some months afterwards, when the House of Commons was occupied withthe illegal opening of Mazzini's letters, Carlyle spontaneouslystepped forward and paid the following tribute to his character:--

"TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'TIMES. '

"SIR, --

"In your observations in yesterday's _Times_ on the late disgracefulaffair of Mr. Mazzini's letters and the Secretary of State, youmention that Mr. Mazzini is entirely unknown to you, entirelyindifferent to you; and add, very justly, that if he were the mostcontemptible of mankind, it would not affect your argument on thesubject. [A]

[Footnote A: "Mr. Mazzini's character and habits and society arenothing to the point, unless connected with some certain or probableevidence of evil intentions or treasonable plots. We know nothing, and care nothing about him. He may be the most worthless and the mostvicious creature in the world; but this is no reason of itself whyhis letters should be detained and opened. "--leading article, June 17, 1844. ]

"It may tend to throw farther light on this matter if I now certifyyou, which I in some sort feel called upon to do, that Mr. Mazzini isnot unknown to various competent persons in this country; and that heis very far indeed from being contemptible--none farther, or very fewof living men. I have had the honour to know Mr. Mazzini for a seriesof years; and, whatever I may think of his practical insight and skillin worldly affairs, I can with great freedom testify to all men thathe, if I have ever seen one such, is a man of genius and virtue, a manof sterling veracity, humanity, and nobleness of mind; one of thoserare men, numerable unfortunately but as units in this world, who areworthy to be called martyr-souls; who, in silence, piously in theirdaily life, understand and practise what is meant by that. 

"Of Italian democracies and young Italy's sorrows, of extraneousAustrian Emperors in Milan, or poor old chimerical Popes in Bologna, I know nothing, and desire to know nothing; but this other thing I doknow, and can here declare publicly to be a fact, which fact all ofus that have occasion to comment on Mr. Mazzini and his affairs may dowell to take along with us, as a thing leading towards new clearness, and not towards new additional darkness, regarding him and them. 

"Whether the extraneous Austrian Emperor and miserable old chimeraof a Pope shall maintain themselves in Italy, or be obliged to decampfrom Italy, is not a question in the least vital to Englishmen. Butit is a question vital to us that sealed letters in an Englishpost-office be, as we all fancied they were, respected as thingssacred; that opening of men's letters, a practice near of kin topicking men's pockets, and to other still viler and far fataler formsof scoundrelism be not resorted to in England, except in cases of thevery last extremity. When some new gunpowder plot may be in thewind, some double-dyed high treason, or imminent national wreck notavoidable otherwise, then let us open letters--not till then. 

"To all Austrian Kaisers and such like, in their time of trouble, let us answer, as our fathers from of old have answered:--Not by suchmeans is help here for you. Such means, allied to picking of pocketsand viler forms of scoundrelism, are not permitted in this country foryour behoof. The right hon. Secretary does himself detest such, andeven is afraid to employ them. He dare not: it would be dangerousfor him! All British men that might chance to come in view of sucha transaction, would incline to spurn it, and trample on it, andindignantly ask him what he meant by it?

"I am, Sir, your obedient servant, "THOMAS CARLYLE. [A]

 "Chelsea, June 18. "

[Footnote A: From _The Times_, Wednesday, June 19, 1844. ]

The autumn of this year was saddened for Carlyle by the loss ofthe dear friend whose biography he afterwards wrote. On the 18th ofSeptember, 1844--after a short career of melancholy promise, only halffulfilled--John Sterling died, in his thirty-ninth year. 

The next work that appeared from Carlyle's pen--a special serviceto history, and to the memory of one of England's greatest men--was"Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches, with Elucidations and aConnecting Narrative, " two volumes, published in 1845. If there wereany doubt remaining after the publication of the "French Revolution"what position our author might occupy amongst the historians of theage, it was fully removed on the appearance of "Cromwell's Letters. "The work obtained a great and an immediate popularity; and thoughbulky and expensive, a very large impression was quickly sold. These speeches and letters of Cromwell, the spelling and punctuationcorrected, and a few words added here and there for clearness' sake, and to accommodate them to the language and style in use now, werefirst made intelligible and effective by Mr. Carlyle. "The authenticutterances of the man Oliver himself, " he says, "I have gathered themfrom far and near; fished them up from the foul Lethean quagmireswhere they lay buried. I have washed, or endeavoured to wash themclean from foreign stupidities--such a job of buckwashing as I do notlong to repeat--and the world shall now see them in their own shape. "The work was at once republished in America, and two editions werecalled for here within the year. 

While engaged on this work, Carlyle went down to Rugby by expressinvitation, on Friday, 13th May, 1842, and on the following dayexplored the field of Naseby, in company with Dr. Arnold. The meetingof two such remarkable men--only six weeks before the death ofthe latter--has in it something solemn and touching, and unusuallyinteresting. Carlyle left the school-house, expressing the hope thatit might "long continue to be what was to him one of the rarest sightsin the world--a temple of industrious peace. "

Arnold, who, with the deep sympathy arising from kindred nobility ofsoul, had long cherished a high reverence for Carlyle, was very proudof having received such a guest under his roof, and during those fewlast weeks of life was wont to be in high spirits, talking with hisseveral guests, and describing with much interest, his recent visit toNaseby with Carlyle, "its position on some of the highest table-landin England--the streams falling on the one side into the Atlantic, onthe other into the German Ocean--far away, too, from any town--MarketHarborough, the nearest, into which the cavaliers were chased late inthe long summer evening on the fourteenth of June. "

Perhaps the most graphic description of Carlyle's manner andconversation ever published, is contained in the following passagefrom a letter addressed to Emerson by an accomplished American, Margaret Fuller, who visited England in the autumn of 1846, and whosestrange, beautiful history and tragical death on her homeward voyage, are known to most readers. 

The letter is dated Paris, November 16, 1846. 

"Of the people I saw in London, you will wish me to speak first of theCarlyles. Mr. C. Came to see me at once, and appointed an evening tobe passed at their house. That first time, I was delighted with him. He was in a very sweet humour, --full of wit and pathos, without beingoverbearing or oppressive. I was quite carried away with the rich flowof his discourse, and the hearty, noble earnestness of his personalbeing brought back the charm which once was upon his writing, before Iwearied of it. I admired his Scotch, his way of singing his great fullsentences, so that each one was like the stanza of a narrative ballad. He let me talk, now and then, enough to free my lungs and change myposition, so that I did not get tired. That evening, he talked of thepresent state of things in England, giving light, witty sketchesof the men of the day, fanatics and others, and some sweet, homelystories he told of things he had known of the Scotch peasantry. 

"Of you he spoke with hearty kindness; and he told, with beautifulfeeling, a story of some poor farmer, or artisan in the country, whoon Sunday lays aside the cark and care of that dirty English world, and sits reading the Essays, and looking upon the sea. 

"I left him that night, intending to go out very often to theirhouse. I assure you there never was anything so witty as Carlyle'sdescription of ---- ----. It was enough to kill one with laughing. I, on my side, contributed a story to his fund of anecdote on thissubject, and it was fully appreciated. Carlyle is worth a thousand ofyou for that;--he is not ashamed to laugh when he is amused, but goeson in a cordial, human fashion. 

"The second time Mr. C. Had a dinner-party, at which was a witty, French, flippant sort of man, author of a History of Philosophy, [A]and now writing a Life of Goethe, a task for which he must be as unfitas irreligion and sparkling shallowness can make him. But he toldstories admirably, and was allowed sometimes to interrupt Carlyle alittle, of which one was glad, for that night he was in his more acridmood, and though much more brilliant than on the former evening, grewwearisome to me, who disclaimed and rejected almost everything hesaid. 

[Footnote A: George Henry Lewes. ]

"For a couple of hours he was talking about poetry, and the wholeharangue was one eloquent proclamation of the defects in his own mind. Tennyson wrote in verse because the schoolmasters had taught him thatit was great to do so, and had thus, unfortunately, been turned fromthe true path for a man. Burns had, in like manner, been turned fromhis vocation. Shakespeare had not had the good sense to see thatit would have been better to write straight on in prose;--and suchnonsense, which, though amusing enough at first, he ran to death aftera while. 

"The most amusing part is always when he comes back to some refrain, as in the French Revolution of the _sea-green_. In this instance, itwas Petrarch and _Laura_, the last word pronounced with his ineffablesarcasm of drawl. Although he said this over fifty times, I could nothelp laughing when _Laura_ would come. Carlyle running his chin outwhen he spoke it, and his eyes glancing till they looked like the eyesand beak of a bird of prey. 

Poor Laura! Luckily for her that her poet had already got her safelycanonized beyond the reach of this Teufelsdröckh vulture. 

"The worst of hearing Carlyle is, that you cannot interrupt him. Iunderstand the habit and power of haranguing have increased very muchupon him, so that you are a perfect prisoner when he has once got holdof you. To interrupt him is a physical impossibility. If you get achance to remonstrate for a moment, he raises his voice and bearsyou down. True, he does you no injustice, and, with his admirablepenetration, sees the disclaimer in your mind, so that you are notmorally delinquent; but it is not pleasant to be unable to utter it. The latter part of the evening, however, he paid us for this, by aseries of sketches, in his finest style of railing and raillery, ofmodern French literature, not one of them, perhaps, perfectly just, but all drawn with the finest, boldest strokes, and, from his point ofview, masterly. All were depreciating, except that of Béranger. Of himhe spoke with perfect justice, because with hearty sympathy. 

"I had, afterward, some talk with Mrs. C. , whom hitherto I had only_seen_, for who can speak while her husband is there? I like her verymuch;--she is full of grace, sweetness, and talent. Her eyes are sadand charming. 

 * * * * *

"After this, they went to stay at Lord Ashburton's, and I only sawthem once more, when they came to pass an evening with us. Unluckily, Mazzini was with us, whose society, when he was there alone, I enjoyedmore than any. He is a beauteous and pure music: also, he is a dearfriend of Mrs. C. , but his being there gave the conversation a turn to'progress' and ideal subjects, and C. Was fluent in invectives onall our 'rose-water imbecilities. ' We all felt distant from him, andMazzini, after some vain efforts to remonstrate, became very sad. Mrs. C. Said to me, --

"'These are but opinions to Carlyle, but to Mazzini, who has given hisall, and helped bring his friends to the scaffold, in pursuit of suchsubjects, it is a matter of life and death. '

"All Carlyle's talk, that evening, was a defence of mereforce, --success the test of right;--if people would not behave well, put collars round their necks;--find a hero, and let them be hisslaves, &c. It was very Titanic, and anti-celestial. I wish the lastevening had been more melodious. However, I bid Carlyle farewell withfeelings of the warmest friendship and admiration. We cannot feelotherwise to a great and noble nature, whether it harmonise with ourown or not. I never appreciated the work he has done for his agetill I saw England. I could not. You must stand in the shadow of thatmountain of shams, to know how hard it is to cast light across it. 

"Honour to Carlyle! _Hoch_! Although, in the wine with which we drinkthis health, I, for one, must mingle the despised 'rose-water. '

"And now, having to your eye shown the defects of my own mind, inthe sketch of another, I will pass on more lowly, --more willing to beimperfect, since Fate permits such noble creatures, after all, tobe only this or that. It is much if one is not only a crow ormagpie;--Carlyle is only a lion. Some time we may, all in full, beintelligent and humanely fair. "

 * * * * *

"_December_, 1846. --Accustomed to the infinite wit and exuberantrichness of his writings, his talk is still an amazement anda splendour scarcely to be faced with steady eyes. He does notconverse;--only harangues. It is the usual misfortune of such markedmen, --happily not one invariable or inevitable, --that they cannotallow other minds room to breathe, and show themselves in theiratmosphere, and thus miss the refreshment and instruction which thegreatest never cease to need from the experience of the humblest. 

"Carlyle allows no one a chance, but bears down all opposition, notonly by his wit and onset of words, resistless in their sharpness asso many bayonets, but by actual physical superiority, --raising hisvoice, and rushing on his opponent with a torrent of sound. This isnot in the least from unwillingness to allow freedom to others. On thecontrary, no man would more enjoy a manly resistance to his thought. But it is the impulse of a mind accustomed to follow out its ownimpulse, as the hawk its prey, and which knows not how to stop inthe chase. Carlyle, indeed, is arrogant and overbearing; but in hisarrogance there is no littleness, --no self-love. It is the heroicarrogance of some old Scandinavian conqueror;--it is his nature, andthe untameable impulse that has given him power to crush the dragons. You do not love him, perhaps, nor revere; and perhaps, also, he wouldonly laugh at you if you did; but you like him heartily, and like tosee him the powerful smith, the Siegfried, melting all the old ironin his furnace till it glows to a sunset red, and burns you, if yousenselessly go too near. 

"He seems, to me, quite isolated, --lonely as the desert, --yet neverwas a man more fitted to prize a man, could he find one to matchhis mood. He finds them, but only in the past. He sings, rather thantalks. He pours upon you a kind of satirical, heroical, critical poem, with regular cadences, and generally catching up, near the beginning, some singular epithet, which serves as a _refrain_ when his song isfull, or with which, as with a knitting needle, he catches up thestitches, if he has chanced, now and then, to let fall a row. 

"For the higher kinds of poetry he has no sense, and his talk on thatsubject is delightfully and gorgeously absurd. He sometimes stops aminute to laugh at it himself, then begins anew with fresh vigour; forall the spirits he is driving before him seem to him as Fata Morganas, ugly masks, in fact, if he can but make them turn about; but he laughsthat they seem to others such dainty Ariels. His talk, like his books, is full of pictures; his critical strokes masterly. Allow for hispoint of view, and his survey is admirable. He is a large subject. Icannot speak more or wiselier of him now, nor needs it;--his works aretrue, to blame and praise him, --the Siegfried of England, --great andpowerful, if not quite invulnerable, and of a might rather to destroyevil, than legislate for good. "[A]

[Footnote A: "Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli. " (Boston, 1852. ) Vol. Iii. , pp. 96-104. ]

In 1848 Mr. Carlyle contributed a series of articles to the _Examiner_and _Spectator_, principally on Irish affairs, which, as he has neveryet seen fit to reprint them in his Miscellanies, are apparently quiteunknown to the general public. With the exception of the last, theymay be considered as a sort of alarum note, sounded to heraldthe approach of the Latter-Day Pamphlets, which appeared shortlyafterwards. 

The following is a list of these newspaper articles:--

In _The Examiner_, 1848. 

 March 4. "Louis Philippe. " April 29. "Repeal of the Union. " May 13. "Legislation for Ireland. "

In _The Spectator_, 1848. 

 May 13. "Ireland and the British Chief Governor. " " "Irish Regiments (of the New Era). "

In _The Examiner_, 1848. 

 Dec. 2. "Death of Charles Buller. "

The last-named paper, a tribute to the memory of his old pupil, weshall give entire. Another man of genius, [A] now also gone to hisrest, sang sorrowfully on the same occasion:

[Footnote A: W. M. Thackeray. ]

 "Who knows the inscrutable design? Blest be He who took and gave! Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, Be weeping at her darling's grave?

 We bow to Heaven that will'd it so, That darkly rules the fate of all, That sends the respite or the blow, That's free to give, or to recall. "

Carlyle's paper reads like a solemn and touching funeral oration tothe uncovered mourners as they stand round the grave before it isclosed:--

"A very beautiful soul has suddenly been summoned from among us; oneof the clearest intellects, and most aërial activities in England, has unexpectedly been called away. Charles Buller died on Wednesdaymorning last, without previous sickness, reckoned of importance, tilla day or two before. An event of unmixed sadness, which has created ajust sorrow, private and public. The light of many a social circleis dimmer henceforth, and will miss long a presence which was alwaysgladdening and beneficent; in the coming storms of political trouble, which heap themselves more and more in ominous clouds on our horizon, one radiant element is to be wanting now. 

"Mr. Buller was in his forty-third year, and had sat in Parliamentsome twenty of those. A man long kept under by the peculiarities ofhis endowment and position, but rising rapidly into importance of lateyears; beginning to reap the fruits of long patience, and to see anever wider field open round him. He was what in party language iscalled a 'Reformer, ' from his earliest youth; and never swerved fromthat faith, nor could swerve. His luminous sincere intellect laid bareto him in all its abject incoherency the thing that was untrue, whichthenceforth became for him a thing that was not tenable, that it wasperilous and scandalous to attempt maintaining. Twenty years inthe dreary, weltering lake of parliamentary confusion, with itsdisappointments and bewilderments, had not quenched this tendency, inwhich, as we say, he persevered as by a law of nature itself, for theessence of his mind was clearness, healthy purity, incompatibilitywith fraud in any of its forms. What he accomplished, therefore, whether great or little, was all to be _added_ to the sum of good;none of it to be deducted. There shone mildly in his whole conducta beautiful veracity, as if it were unconscious of itself; a perfectspontaneous absence of all cant, hypocrisy, and hollow pretence, not in word and act only, but in thought and instinct. To a singularextent it can be said of him that he was a spontaneous clear man. Verygentle, too, though full of fire; simple, brave, graceful. What hedid, and what he said, came from him as light from a luminous body, and had thus always in it a high and rare merit, which any of the morediscerning could appreciate fully. 

"To many, for a long while, Mr. Buller passed merely for a man of wit, and certainly his beautiful natural gaiety of character, which by nomeans meant _levity_, was commonly thought to mean it, and did formany years, hinder the recognition of his intrinsic higher qualities. Slowly it began to be discovered that, under all this many-colouredradiancy and coruscation, there burnt a most steady light; a sound, penetrating intellect, full of adroit resources, and loyal by natureitself to all that was methodic, manful, true;--in brief, a mildlyresolute, chivalrous, and gallant character, capable of doing muchserious service. 

"A man of wit he indisputably was, whatever more amongst the wittiestof men. His speech, and manner of being, played everywhere like softbrilliancy of lambent fire round the common objects of the hour, andwas, beyond all others that English society could show, entitled tothe name of excellent, for it was spontaneous, like all else in him, genuine, humane, --the glittering play of the soul of a real man. Tohear him, the most serious of men might think within himself, 'Howbeautiful is human gaiety too!' Alone of wits, Buller never made wit;he could be silent, or grave enough, where better was going; oftenrather liked to be silent if permissible, and always was so whereneedful. His wit, moreover, was ever the ally of wisdom, not of folly, or unkindness, or injustice; no soul was ever hurt by it; never, webelieve, never, did his wit offend justly any man, and often have weseen his ready resource relieve one ready to be offended, and light upa pausing circle all into harmony again. In truth, it was beautiful tosee such clear, almost childlike simplicity of heart coexisting withthe finished dexterities, and long experiences, of a man of the world. Honour to human worth, in whatever form we find it! This man was trueto his friends, true to his convictions, --and true without effort, as the magnet is to the north. He was ever found on the rightside; helpful to it, not obstructive of it, in all he attempted orperformed. 

"Weak health; a faculty indeed brilliant, clear, prompt, not deficientin depth either, or in any kind of active valour, but wanting thestern energy that could long endure to _continue_ in the deep, in thechaotic, new, and painfully incondite--this marked out for him hislimits; which, perhaps with regrets enough, his natural veracity andpracticality would lead him quietly to admit and stand by. He was notthe man to grapple, in its dark and deadly dens, with the Lernæan coilof social Hydras; perhaps not under any circumstances: but he did, unassisted, what he could; faithfully himself did something--nay, something truly considerable;--and in his _patience_ with the muchthat by him and his strength could not be done let us grant there wassomething of beautiful too!

"Properly, indeed, his career as a public man was but beginning. In the office he last held, much was silently expected of him; hehimself, too, recognised well what a fearful and immense question thisof Pauperism is; with what ominous rapidity the demand for solutionof it is pressing on; and how little the world generally is yetaware what methods and principles, new, strange, and altogethercontradictory to the shallow maxims and idle philosophies current atpresent, would be needed for dealing with it! This task he perhapscontemplated with apprehension; but he is not now to be tried withthis, or with any task more. He has fallen, at this point of themarch, an honourable soldier; and has left us here to fight alongwithout him. Be his memory dear and honourable to us, as that ofone so worthy ought. What in him was true and valiant endures forevermore--beyond all memory or record. His light, airy brilliancy hassuddenly become solemn, fixed in the earnest stillness of Eternity. _There_ shall we also, and our little works, all shortly be. "

In 1850 appeared the "Latter-Day Pamphlets, " essays suggested by theconvulsions of 1848, in which, more than in any previous publication, the author spoke out in the character of a social and political censorof his own age. "He seemed to be the worshipper of mere brute force, the advocate of all harsh, coercive measures. Model prisons andschools for the reform of criminals, poor-laws, churches as at presentconstituted, the aristocracy, parliament, and other institutions, wereassailed and ridiculed in unmeasured terms, and generally, theEnglish public was set down as composed of sham heroes, and a valetor 'flunkey' world. " From their very nature as stern denunciationsof what the author considered contemporary fallacies, wrongs, andhypocrisies, these pamphlets produced a storm of critical indignationagainst him. 

The life of John Sterling was published in the following year; andCarlyle then began that long spell of work--the "History of Frederickthe Great"--which extended over thirteen years, the last, and perhapsthe greatest, monument of his genius. 

In 1856, when we may suppose his mind to be full of the details ofbattles, and overflowing with military tactics, he received from SirW. Napier his "History of the Administration of Scinde, " and wrote thefollowing letter to the author:--

 "THOMAS CARLYLE TO SIR WILLIAM NAPIER. 

 "Chelsea, May 12, 1856. 

"DEAR SIR, "I have read with attention, and with many feelings and reflections, your record of Sir C. Napier's Administration of Scinde. You mustpermit me to thank you, in the name of Britain at large, for writingsuch a book; and in my own poor name to acknowledge the greatcompliment and kindness implied in sending me a copy for myself. 

"It is a book which every living Englishman would be the betterfor reading--for studying diligently till he saw into it, till herecognised and believed the high and tragic phenomenon set forththere! A book which may be called 'profitable' in the old Scripturesense; profitable for reproof, for correction and admonition, forgreat sorrow, yet for 'building up in righteousness' too--in heroic, manful endeavour to do well, and not ill, in one's time and place. One feels it a kind of possession to know that one has had such afellow-citizen and contemporary in these evil days. 

"The fine and noble qualities of the man are very recognisable to me;his subtle, piercing intellect turned all to the practical, givinghim just insight into men and into things; his inexhaustible adroitcontrivances; his fiery valour; sharp promptitude to seize the goodmoment that will not return. A lynx-eyed, fiery man, with the spiritof an old knight in him; more of a hero than any modern I have seenfor a long time. 

"A singular veracity one finds in him; not in his words alone--which, however, I like much for their fine rough _naïveté_--but in hisactions, judgments, aims; in all that he thinks, and does, andsays--which, indeed, I have observed is the root of all greatness orreal worth in human creatures, and properly the first (and also therarest) attribute of what we call _genius_ among men. 

"The path of such a man through the foul jungle of this world--thestruggle of Heaven's inspiration against the terrestrial fooleries, cupidities, and cowardices--cannot be other than tragical: but the mandoes tear out a bit of way for himself too; strives towards the goodgoal, inflexibly persistent till his long rest come: the man doesleave his mark behind him, ineffaceable, beneficent to all good men, maleficent to none: and we must not complain. The British nation ofthis time, in India or elsewhere--God knows no nation ever had moreneed of such men, in every region of its affairs! But also perhaps nonation ever had a much worse chance to get hold of them, to recogniseand loyally second them, even when they are there. 

"Anarchic stupidity is wide as the night; victorious wisdom is but asa lamp in it shining here and there. Contrast a Napier even in Scindewith, for example, a Lally at Pondicherry or on the Place de Grève;one has to admit that it is the common lot, that it might have beenfar worse!

"There is great talent in this book apart from its subject. Thenarrative moves on with strong, weighty step, like a marching phalanx, with the gleam of clear steel in it--sheers down the opponent objectsand tramples them out of sight in a very potent manner. The writer, it is evident, had in him a lively, glowing image, complete in all itsparts, of the transaction to be told; and that is his grand secretof giving the reader so lively a conception of it. I was surprised tofind how much I had carried away with me, even of the Hill campaignand of Trukkee itself; though without a map the attempt to understandsuch a thing seemed to me desperate at first. 

"With many thanks, and gratified to have made this reflexacquaintance, which, if it should ever chance to become a direct one, might gratify me still more, "I remain always yours sincerely, "T. CARLYLE. "[A]

[Footnote A: "Life of General Sir William Napier, K. C. B. " Edited byH. A. Bruce, M. P. London: Murray, 1864. Vol. Ii. Pp. 312-314. ]

In June, 1861, a few days after the great fire in which InspectorBraidwood perished in the discharge of his duty, Carlyle broke a longsilence with the following letter:--

 "TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'TIMES. '

"SIR, --

"There is a great deal of public sympathy, and of deeper sort thanusual, awake at present on the subject of Inspector Braidwood. It isa beautiful emotion, and apparently a perfectly just one, and wellbestowed. Judging by whatever light one gets, Braidwood seems to havebeen a man of singular worth in his department, and otherwise; such aservant as the public seldom has. Thoroughly skilled in his function, nobly valiant in it, and faithful to it--faithful to the death. In rude, modest form, actually a kind of hero, who has perished inserving us!

"Probably his sorrowing family is not left in wealthy circumstances. Most certainly it is pity when a generous emotion, in many men, or inany man, has to die out futile, and leave no _action_ behind it. Thequestion, therefore, suggests itself--Should not there be a 'BraidwoodTestimonial, ' the proper parties undertaking it, in a modest, seriousmanner, the public silently testifying (to such extent, at least) whatworth its emotion has?

"I venture to throw out this hint, and, if it be acted on, will, withgreat satisfaction, give my mite among other people; but must, forgood reasons, say further, that this [is] all I can do in the matter(of which, indeed, I know nothing but what everybody knows, and agreat deal less than every reader of the newspapers knows); and that, in particular, I cannot answer any letters on the subject, should suchhappen to be sent me. 

"In haste, I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, "T. CARLYLE. [A]

 "5, Cheyne-row, Chelsea, June 30. "

[Footnote A: (Printed in _The Times_, Tuesday, July 2, 1861. )]

The "History of Frederick the Great" was completed early in 1865. Later in the same year the students of Edinburgh University electedCarlyle as Lord Rector. We cannot do better than describe theproceedings and the subsequent address in the words of the lateAlexander Smith:--

"Mr. Gladstone demitted office, and then it behoved the students ofthe University to cast about for a worthy successor. Two candidateswere proposed, Mr. Carlyle and Mr. Disraeli; and on the election dayMr. Carlyle was returned by a large and enthusiastic majority. Thiswas all very well, but a doubt lingered in the minds of many whetherMr. Carlyle would accept the office, or if accepting it, whether hewould deliver an address--said address being the sole apple which theRectorial tree is capable of bearing. The hare was indeed caught, butit was doubtful somewhat whether the hare would allow itself to be_cooked_ after the approved academical fashion. It was tolerably wellknown that Mr. Carlyle had emerged from his long spell of work on"Frederick, " in a condition of health the reverse of robust; thathe had once or twice before declined similar honours from ScottishUniversities--from Glasgow some twelve or fourteen years ago, and fromAberdeen some seven or eight; and that he was constitutionally opposedto all varieties of popular displays, more especially those of theoratorical sort. 

"But all dispute was ended when it was officially announced that Mr. Carlyle had accepted the office of Lord Rector, that he would conformto all its requirements, and that the Rectorial address would bedelivered late in spring. And so when the days began to lengthen inthese northern latitudes, and crocuses to show their yellow and purpleheads, people began to talk about the visit of the great writer, andto speculate on what manner and fashion of speech he would deliver. 

"Edinburgh has no University Hall, and accordingly when speech-dayapproached, the largest public room in the city was chartered by theUniversity authorities. This public room--the Music Hall in GeorgeStreet--will contain, under severe pressure, from eighteen hundred tonineteen hundred persons, and tickets to that extent were secured bythe students and members of the General Council. Curious stories aretold of the eagerness on every side manifested to hear Mr. Carlyle. Country clergymen from beyond Aberdeen came into Edinburgh for thesole purpose of hearing and seeing. Gentlemen came down from Londonby train the night before, and returned to London by train the nightafter. 

"In a very few minutes after the doors were opened the large hall wasfilled in every part, and when up the central passage the Principal, the Lord Rector, the Members of the Senate, and other gentlemenadvanced towards the platform, the cheering was vociferous and hearty. The Principal occupied the chair of course, the Lord Rector on hisright, the Lord Provost on his left. Every eye was fixed on theRector. To all appearance, as he sat, time and labour had dealttenderly with him. His face had not yet lost the country bronze whichhe brought up with him from Dumfriesshire as a student fifty-six yearsago. His long residence in London had not touched his Annandale look, nor had it--as we soon learned--touched his Annandale accent. Hiscountenance was striking, homely, sincere, truthful--the countenanceof a man on whom 'the burden of the unintelligible world' had weighedmore heavily than on most. His hair was yet almost dark; his moustacheand short beard were iron grey. His eyes were wide, melancholy, sorrowful; and seemed as if they had been at times a-weary of thesun. Altogether in his aspect there was something aboriginal, as ofa piece, of unhewn granite, which had never been polished to anyapproved pattern, whose natural and original vitality had neverbeen tampered with. In a word, there seemed no passivity about Mr. Carlyle--he was the diamond, and the world was his pane of glass; hewas a graving tool rather than a thing graven upon--a man to set hismark on the world--a man on whom the world could not set _its_ mark. And just as, glancing towards Fife a few minutes before, one could nothelp thinking of his early connection with Edward Irving, so seeinghim sit beside the venerable Principal of the University, one couldnot help thinking of his earliest connection with literature. 

"Time brings men into the most unexpected relationships. When thePrincipal was plain Mr. Brewster, editor of the Edinburgh Cyclopædia, little dreaming that he should ever be Knight of Hanover and headof the Northern Metropolitan University, Mr. Carlyle--just as littledreaming that he should be the foremost man of letters of his day andLord Rector of the same University--was his contributor, writing forsaid Cyclopædia biographies of Montesquieu and other notables. And soit came about that after years of separation and of honourable labour, the old editor and contributor were brought together again--in newaspects. 

"The proceedings began by the conferring of the degree of LL. D. On Mr. Erskine of Linlathen--an old friend of Mr. Carlyle's--on ProfessorsHuxley, Tyndall, and Ramsay, and on Dr. Rae, the Arctic explorer. Thatdone, amid a tempest of cheering and hats enthusiastically waved, Mr. Carlyle, slipping off his Rectorial robe--which must have been a veryshirt of Nessus to him--advanced to the table and began to speak inlow, wavering, melancholy tones, which were in accordance withthe melancholy eyes, and in the Annandale accent, with which hisplayfellows must have been familiar long ago. So self-containedwas he, so impregnable to outward influences, that all his yearsof Edinburgh and London life could not impair even in the slightestdegree, _that_. 

"The opening sentences were lost in the applause. What need of quotinga speech which by this time has been read by everybody? Appraise it asyou please, it was a thing _per se_. Just as, if you wish a purple dyeyou must fish up the Murex; if you wish ivory you must go to the east;so if you desire an address such as Edinburgh listened to the otherday, you must go to Chelsea for it. It may not be quite to your taste, but, in any case, there is no other intellectual warehouse in whichthat kind of article is kept in stock. 

"The gratitude I owe to him is--or should be--equal to that of most. He has been to me only a voice, sometimes sad, sometimes wrathful, sometimes scornful; and when I saw him for the first time with theeye of flesh stand up amongst us the other day, and heard him speakkindly, brotherly, affectionate words--his first appearance of thatkind, I suppose, since he discoursed of Heroes and Hero Worship to theLondon people--I am not ashamed to confess that I felt moved towardshim, as I do not think in any possible combination of circumstances Icould have felt moved towards any other living man. "[A]

[Footnote A: _The Argosy_, May, 1866. ]

The Edinburgh correspondent to a London paper thus describes what tookplace:--

"A vast interest among the intelligent public has been excited by theprospect of Mr. Thomas Carlyle's appearance to be installed as LordRector of the University of Edinburgh. With the exception of thedelivery of his lectures on Heroes and Hero-worship, he has avoidedoratory; and to many of his admirers the present occasion seemedlikely to afford their only chance of ever seeing him in the flesh, and hearing his living voice. The result has been, that the Universityauthorities have been beset by applications in number altogetherunprecedented--to nearly all of which they could only give thereluctant answer, that admission for strangers was impossible. Thestudents who elect Mr. Carlyle received tickets, if they appliedwithin the specified time, and the members of the Universitycouncil, or graduates, obtained the residue according to priority ofapplication. Ladies' tickets to the number of one hundred and fiftywere issued, each professor obtaining four, and the remaining thirtybeing placed at the disposal of Sir David Brewster, the Principal. Andthe one hundred and fifty lucky ladies were conspicuous in the frontof the gallery to-day, having been admitted before the doors forstudents and other males were open. 

"The hour appointed for letting them in was kept precisely--it washalf-past one P. M. , but an hour before it, despite occasionalshowers of rain, a crowd had begun to gather at the front door ofthe music-hall, and at the opening of the door it had gathered toproportions sufficient to half fill the building, its capacity undersevere crushing being about two thousand. 

"When the door was opened, they rushed in as crowds of young menonly can and dare rush, and up the double stairs they streamed likea torrent; which torrent, however, policemen and check-gates soonmoderated. I chanced to fall into a lucky current of the crowd, andgot in amongst the first two or three hundred, and got forward to thefourth seat from the platform, as good a place for seeing and hearingas any. 

"The proceedings of the day were fixed to commence at two P. M. , andthe half-hour of waiting was filled up by the students in throwingoccasional volleys of peas, whistling _en masse_ various lively tunes, and in clambering, like small escalading parties, on to and over theplatform to take advantage of the seats in the organ gallery behind. For Edinburgh students, however, let me say that these proceedingswere singularly decorous. They did indulge in a little fun whennothing else was doing, but they did not come for that alone. Anystudent who wanted fun could have sold his ticket at a handsomeprofit, for which better fun could be had elsewhere. I heard among thecrowd that some students had got so high a price as a guinea each fortheir tickets, and I heard of others who had been offered no lessbut had refused it. And I must say further, that they listened to Mr. Carlyle's address with as much attention and reverence as they couldhave bestowed on a prophet--only I daresay most prophets would haveelicited less applause and laughter. 

"Shortly before two, the city magistrates and a few other personagesmounted the platform, and, with as much quietness as the fancy of thestudents directed, took the seats which had been marked out for themby large red pasteboard tickets. At two precisely the students inthe organ gallery started to the tops of the seats and began to cheervociferously, and almost instantly all the audience followed theirexample. The procession was on its way through the hall, and in halfa minute Lord Provost Chambers, in his official robes, mounted theplatform stair; then Principal Sir David Brewster and Lord RectorCarlyle, both in their gold-laced robes of office; then the Rev. Dr. Lee, and the other professors, in their gowns; also the LL. D. 's to be, in black gowns. Lord Neaves and Dr. Guthrie were there in an LL. D. 'sblack gown and blue ribbons; Mr. Harvey, the President of the RoyalAcademy, and Sir D. Baxter, Bart. --men conspicuous in their plainclothes. 

"Dr. Lee offered up a prayer of a minute and a half, at the 'Amen' ofwhich I could see Mr. Carlyle bow very low. Then the business of theoccasion commenced. Mr. Gibson--a tall, thin, pale-faced, beardless, acute, composed-looking young gentleman, in an M. A. 's gown--introducedMr. Carlyle, 'the most distinguished son of the University, ' to thePrincipal, Sir David Brewster, as the Lord Rector elected by thestudents. Sir David saluted him as such, thinking, perhaps, of thetime when, an unknown young man, Thomas Carlyle wrote articles forBrewster's 'Cyclopædia, ' and got Brewster's name to introduce topublic notice his translation of Legendre's 'Geometry. ' Next ProfessorMuirhead, for the time being the Dean of the Faculty of Laws in theUniversity, introduced various gentlemen to the Principal in order, as persons whom the senate had thought worthy of the degree of LL. D. , giving a dignified, but not always very happy, account of the meritsof each. There was Mr. Erskine, of Linlathen, Mr. Carlyle's host forthe time being, and often previously, an old friend of Irving andChalmers, himself the writer of various elegant and sincere religiousbooks, and one of the best and most amiable of men. If intelligentgoodness ever entitled any one to the degree of LL. D. , he certainlydeserves it; and when I say this, I do not insinuate that on groundsof pure intellect he is not well entitled to the honour. He is now, Ishould think, nearer eighty than seventy years of age--a mild-looking, full-eyed old man, with a face somewhat of the type of Lord Derby's. There was Professor Huxley, young in years, dark, heavy-browed, alertand resolute, but not moulded after any high ideal; and there wasProfessor Tyndall, also young, lithe of limb, and nonchalant inmanner. When his name was called he sat as if he had no concernin what was going on, and then rose with an easy smile, partly ofmodesty, but in great measure of indifference. 

"Dr. Rae, the Arctic explorer and first discoverer of the fate of SirJohn Franklin, who is an M. D. Of Edinburgh, was now made LL. D. He isof tall, wiry, energetic figure, slightly baldish, with greyish, curlyhair, keen, handsome face, high crown and sloping forehead, and hisbearing is that of a soldier--of a man who has both given and obeyedcommands, and been drilled to stand steady and upright. Carlylehimself was offered the degree of LL. D. , but he declined the honour, laughing it off, in fact, in a letter, with such excuses as that hehad a brother a Dr. Carlyle (an M. D. , also a man of genius, I insertparenthetically, and known in literature as a translator of 'Dante'), and that if two Dr. Carlyles should appear at Paradise, mistakes mightarise. 

"After all the LL. D's had heard their merits enumerated, and had hada black hood or wallet of some kind, with a blue ribbon conspicuous init, flung over their heads, Principal Brewster announced that the LordRector would now deliver his address. Thereupon Mr. Carlyle rose atonce, shook himself out of his gold-laced rectorial gown, left it onhis chair, and stepped quietly to the table, and drawing his tall, bony frame into a position of straight perpendicularity not possibleto one man in five hundred at seventy years of age, he began to speakquietly and distinctly, but nervously. There was a slight flush onhis face, but he bore himself with composure and dignity, and in thecourse of half an hour he was obviously beginning to feel at his ease, so far at least as to have adequate command over the current of histhought. 

"He spoke on quite freely and easily, hardly ever repeated a word, never looked at a note, and only once returned to finish up a topicfrom which he had deviated. He apologised for not having come witha written discourse. It was usual, and 'it would have been morecomfortable for me just at present, ' but he had tried it, and couldnot satisfy himself, and 'as the spoken word comes from the heart, ' hehad resolved to try that method. What he said in words will be learnedotherwise than from me. I could not well describe it; but I do notthink I ever heard any address that I should be so unwilling to blotfrom my memory. Not that there was much in it that cannot be found inhis writings, or inferred from them; but the manner of the man was akey to the writings, and for naturalness and quiet power, I have neverseen anything to compare with it. He did not deal in rhetoric. Hetalked--it was continuous, strong, quiet talk--like a patriarch aboutto leave the world to the young lads who had chosen him and were justentering the world. His voice is a soft, downy voice--not a tone init is of the shrill, fierce kind that one would expect it to be inreading the Latter-day Pamphlets. 

"There was not a trace of effort or of affectation, or even ofextravagance. Shrewd common sense there was in abundance. There wasthe involved disrupted style also, but it looked so natural thatreflection was needed to recognise in it that very style which puristsfind to be un-English and unintelligible. Over the angles of thisdisrupted style rolled out a few cascades of humour--quite as ifby accident. He let them go, talking on in his soft, downy accents, without a smile; occasionally for an instant looking very serious, with his dark eyes beating like pulses, but generally looking merelycomposed and kindly, and so, to speak, father-like. He concluded byreciting his own translation of a poem of Goethe--

 "'The future hides in it gladness and sorrow. '

And this he did in a style of melancholy grandeur not to be described, but still less to be forgotten. It was then alone that the personalityof the philosopher and poet were revealed continuously in his mannerof utterance. The features of his face are familiar to all from hisportraits. But I do not think any portrait, unless, perhaps, Woolner'smedallion, gives full expression to the resolution that is visiblein his face. Besides, they all make him look sadder and older than heappears. Although he be threescore and ten, his hair is still abundantand tolerably black, and there is considerable colour in his cheek. Not a man of his age on that platform to-day looked so young, and hehad done more work than any ten on it. "

The correspondent of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ gives some interestingparticulars:--

"Mr. Carlyle had not spoken in public before yesterday, since thosegrand utterances on Heroes and Hero-worship in the institute inEdwards Street, Marylebone, which one can scarcely believe, whilstreading them, to have been, in the best sense, extemporaneouslydelivered. In that case Mr. Carlyle began the series, as we haveheard, by bringing a manuscript which he evidently found much in hisway, and presently abandoned. On the second evening he brought somenotes or headings; but these also tripped him until he had left them. The remaining lectures were given like his conversation, which noone can hear without feeling that, with all its glow and inspiration, every sentence would be, if taken down, found faultless. It was soin his remarkable extemporaneous address yesterday. He had no noteswhatever. 'But, ' says our correspondent, in transmitting the report, 'I have never heard a speech of whose more remarkable qualities so fewcan be conveyed on paper. You will read of "applause" and "laughter, "but you will little realize the eloquent blood flaming up thespeaker's cheek, the kindling of his eye, or the inexpressiblevoice and look when the drolleries were coming out. When he spokeof clap-trap books exciting astonishment 'in the minds of foolishpersons, ' the evident halting at the word '_fools_, ' and the smoothingof his hair, as if he must be decorous, which preceded the changeto 'foolish persons, ' were exceedingly comical. As for the flamingbursts, they took shape in grand tones, whose impression was madedeeper, not by raising, but by lowering the voice. Your correspondenthere declares that he should hold it worth his coming all the wayfrom London in the rain in the Sunday night train were it only to haveheard Carlyle say, "There is a nobler ambition than the gaining of allCalifornia, or the getting of all the suffrages that are on the planetjust now!"' In the first few minutes of the address there was somehesitation, and much of the shrinking that one might expect in asecluded scholar; but these very soon cleared away, and during thelarger part, and to the close of the oration, it was evident that hewas receiving a sympathetic influence from his listeners, which hedid not fail to return tenfold. The applause became less frequent;the silence became that of a woven spell; and the recitation ofthe beautiful lines from Goethe, at the end, was so masterly--somarvellous--that one felt in it that Carlyle's real anathemas againstrhetoric were but the expression of his knowledge that there is arhetoric beyond all other arts. "

In the _Times_ the following leader appeared upon Mr. Carlyle'saddress:--

"There is something in the return of a man to the haunts of his youth, after he has acquired fame and a recognised position in the world, which is of itself sufficient to arrest attention. We are interestedin the retrospect and the contrast, the juxtaposition of the old andthe new, the hopes of early years, the memory of the struggles andcontests of manhood, the repose of victory. A man may differ as muchas he pleases from the doctrines of Mr. Carlyle, he may reject hishistorical teachings, and may distrust his politics, but he must beof a very unkindly disposition not to be touched by his receptionat Edinburgh. It is fifty-four years, he told the students of theUniversity, since he, a boy of fourteen, came as a student, 'full ofwonder and expectation, ' to the old capital of his native country, andnow he returns, having accomplished the days of man spoken of by thePsalmist, that he may be honoured by students of this generation, and may give them a few words of advice on the life which lies beforethem. 

"The discourse of the new Lord Rector squared very well with theoccasion. There was no novelty in it. New truths are not the giftswhich the old offer the young; the lesson we learn last is but thefulness of the meaning of what was only partially apprehended atfirst. Mr. Carlyle brought out things familiar enough to everyone whohas read his works; there were the old platitudes and the old truths, and, it must be owned, mingled here and there with them the olderrors. Time has, however, its recompenses, and if the freshness ofyouth seemed to be wanting in the address of the Rector, so also wasits crudity. There was a singular mellowness in Mr. Carlyle's speech, which was reflected in the homely language in which it was couched. The chief lessons he had to enforce were to avoid cram, and to bepainstaking, diligent, and patient in the acquisition of knowledge. Students are not to try to make themselves acquainted with theoutsides of as many things as possible, and 'to go flourishing about'upon the strength of their acquisitions, but to count a thing as knownonly when it is stamped on their mind. The doctrine is only a newreading of the old maxim, _non multa sed multum_, but it is as muchneeded now as ever it was. Still more appropriate to the present daywas Mr. Carlyle's protest against the notion that a University isthe place where a man is to be fitted for the special work of aprofession. A University, as he puts it, teaches a man how to read, or, as we may say more generally, how to learn. It is not the functionof such a place to offer particular and technical knowledge, but toprepare a man for mastering any science by teaching him the method ofall. A child learns the use of his body, not the art of a carpenter orsmith, and the University student learns the use of his mind, not theprofessional lore of a lawyer or a physician. It is pleasant to meetwith a strong reassertion of doctrines which the utilitarianism of acommercial and manufacturing age is too apt to make us all forget. Mr. Carlyle is essentially conservative in his notions on academicfunctions. Accuracy, discrimination, judgment, are with him the be-alland end-all of educational training. If a man has learnt to know athing in itself, and in its relation to surrounding phenomena, hehas got from a University what it is its proper duty to teach. Accordingly, we find him bestowing a good word on poor old ArthurCollins, who showed that he possessed these valuable qualities in thehumble work of compiling a Peerage. 

"The new Lord Rector is, however, as conservative in his choice of theimplements of study as he is in the determination of its objects. Thelanguages and the history of the great nations of antiquity he putsforemost, like any other pedagogue. The Greeks and the Romans are, he tells the Edinburgh students, 'a pair of nations shining in therecords left by themselves as a kind of pillar to light up life in thedarkness of the past ages;' and he adds that it would be well worththeir while to get an understanding of what these people were, andwhat they did. It is here, however, that an old error of Mr. Carlyle's crops up among his well-remembered truths. He quotes fromMachiavelli--evidently agreeing himself with the sentiment, though herefrained from asking the assent of his audience to it--the statementthat the history of Rome showed that a democracy could not permanentlyexist without the occasional intervention of a Dictator. It ispossible that if Machiavelli had had the experience of the centurieswhich have elapsed since his day, he would have seen fit to alter hisconclusion, and it is to be regretted that the admiration which Mr. Carlyle feels for the great men of history will not allow him tobelieve in the possibility of a political society where each mightfind his proper sphere and duty without disturbing the order andnatural succession of the commonwealth. His judgment on this pointis like that of a man who had only known the steam-engine beforethe invention of governor balls, and was ready to declare that itsmechanism would be shattered if a boy were not always at hand toregulate the pressure of the steam. 

 * * * * *

"We may turn, however, from this difference to another of Mr. Carlyle's doctrines, which mark at once his independence of thoughtand his respect for experience, where he declares the necessity forrecognising the hereditary principle in government, if there is to be'any fixity in things. ' In the same way we find him almost lamentingthe fact that Oxford, once apparently so fast-anchored as to beimmovable, has begun to twist and toss on the eddy of new ideas. 

"It is impossible to glance at Mr. Carlyle's Easter Monday discoursewithout recalling the oration which his predecessor pronounced onresigning office last autumn. * * * Mr. Carlyle is as simple andpractical as his predecessor was dazzling and rhetorical. An ounce ofmother wit, quotes the new Lord Rector, is worth a pound of clergy, and while he admires Demosthenes, he prefers the eloquence of Phocion. A little later he repeats his old doctrine on the virtue of silence, laments the fact that 'the finest nations in the world--the Englishand the American--are going all away into wind and tongue, ' andprotests that a man is not to be esteemed wise because he has pouredout speech copiously. Mr. Carlyle has so often inculcated thesesentiments in his books that there can be no suspicion of an _arrièrepensée_ in their utterance now, but the contrast between him and hispredecessor is at the least instructive. Each does, however, in somemeasure, supply what is deficient in the other. No one would claimfor the Chancellor of the Exchequer the intensity of power of hissuccessor, but in his abundant energy, his wide sympathy with popularmovement, and his real, if vague and indiscriminating, faith in theactivity and progress of modern life, he conveys lessons of trustin the present, and hopefulness in the future, which would beill-exchanged for the patient and somewhat sad stoicism of Mr. Carlyle. "

Carlyle was still in Scotland on April 21, and there the terrible andsolemn news had to be conveyed to him of the sudden death of her whohad been his true and faithful life-companion for forty years. 

Mrs. Carlyle died on Saturday, April 21, under very peculiarcircumstances. She was taking her usual drive in Hyde Park about fouro'clock, when her little favourite dog--which was running by the sideof the brougham--was run over by a carriage. She was greatly alarmed, though the dog was not seriously hurt. She lifted the dog into thecarriage, and the man drove on. Not receiving any call or directionfrom his mistress, as was usual, he stopped the carriage anddiscovered her, as he thought, in a fit, or ill, and drove toSt. George's Hospital, which was near at hand. When there it wasdiscovered that she must have been dead some little time. Mrs. Carlyle's health had been for several months feeble, but not in astate to excite anxiety or alarm. 

On the following Wednesday her remains were conveyed from London toHaddington for interment there, and the funeral took place on Thursdayafternoon. Mr. Carlyle was accompanied from London (whither he hadreturned immediately on the receipt of that solemn message) by hisbrother, Dr. Carlyle, Mr. John Forster, and the Hon. Mr. Twistleton. The funeral cortège was followed on foot by a large number ofgentlemen who had known Mrs. Carlyle and her father, Dr. Welsh, who was held in high estimation in the town, where he had practisedmedicine till his death, in 1819. The grave, which is the same asthat occupied by Dr. Welsh's remains, lies in the centre of the ruinedchoir of the old cathedral at Haddington. In accordance with theScottish practice, there was no service read, and Mr. Carlyle threwa handful of earth on the coffin after it had been lowered into thegrave. 

 * * * * *

Carlyle wrote the following inscription to be placed on his wife'stombstone:--

 "Here likewise now rests Jane Welsh Carlyle, spouse of Thomas Carlyle, Chelsea, London. She was born at Haddington 14th July, 1801; only child of the above John Welsh and of Grace Welsh, Caplegell, Dumfriesshire, his wife. In her bright existence she had more sorrows than are common, but also a soft invincibility, a clearness of discernment, and a noble loyalty of heart which are rare. For forty years she was the true and loving helpmate of her husband, and by act and word unweariedly forwarded him as none else could in all of worthy that he did or attempted. She died at London, 21st April, 1866, suddenly snatched away from him, and the light of his life as if gone out. "

Later in the same year, weighed down as he was by his great sorrow, Carlyle nevertheless thought it a public duty to come forwardin defence of Governor Eyre, when the quelling of the Jamaicainsurrection excited so much controversy, and seemed to divide Englandinto two parties. He acted as Vice-President of the Defence Fund. Thefollowing is a letter written to Mr. Hamilton Hume, giving his viewson the subject in full:

 "Ripple Court, Ringwould, Dover, "_August 23_, 1866. 

"SIR, "The clamour raised against Governor Eyre appears to me to bedisgraceful to the good sense of England; and if it rested on anydepth of conviction, and were not rather (as I always flatter myselfit is) a thing of rumour and hearsay, of repetition and reverberation, mostly from the teeth outward, I should consider it of evil omen tothe country and to its highest interests in these times. For my ownshare, all the light that has yet reached me on Mr. Eyre and hishistory in the world goes steadily to establish the conclusion that heis a just, humane, and valiant man, faithful to his trusts everywhere, and with no ordinary faculty of executing them; that his late servicesin Jamaica were of great, perhaps of incalculable value, as certainlythey were of perilous and appalling difficulty--something like thecase of 'fire, ' suddenly reported, 'in the ship's powder room, ' inmid-ocean where the moments mean the ages, and life and death hangon your use or misuse of the moments; and, in short, that penalty andclamour are not the thing this Governor merits from any of us, buthonour and thanks, and wise imitation (I will farther say), shouldsimilar emergencies arise, on the great scale or on the small, inwhatever we are governing!

"The English nation never loved anarchy, nor was wont to spend itssympathy on miserable mad seditions, especially of this inhuman andhalf-brutish type; but always loved order, and the prompt suppressionof seditions, and reserved its tears for something worthier thanpromoters of such delirious and fatal enterprises who had got theirwages for their sad industry. Has the English nation changed, then, altogether? I flatter myself it is not, not yet quite; but only thatcertain loose, superficial portions of it have become a great deallouder, and not any wiser, than they formerly used to be. 

"At any rate, though much averse, at any time, and at this time inparticular, to figure on committees, or run into public noises withoutcall, I do at once, and feel that as a British citizen I should, andmust, make you welcome to my name for your committee, and to whatevergood it can do you. With the hope only that many other British men, offar more significance in such a matter, will at once or gradually dothe like; and that, in fine, by wise effort and persistence, a blindand disgraceful act of public injustice may be prevented; and anegregrious folly as well--not to say, for none can say or compute, what a vital detriment throughout the British Empire, in such anexample set to all the colonies and governors the British Empire has!

"Farther service, I fear, I am not in a state to promise, but thewhole weight of my conviction and good wishes is with you; and ifother service possible to me do present itself, I shall not want forwillingness in case of need. Enclosed is my mite of contribution to your fund. "I have the honour to be yours truly, "T. CARLYLE. "

 "To HAMILTON HUME, Esq. , "Hon. Sec. 'Eyre Defence Fund. '"

In August, 1867, Carlyle broke silence again with an utterance in thestyle of the _Latter-Day Pamphlets_, entitled "Shooting Niagara: andAfter?" published anonymously (though everyone, of course, knew it tobe his) in _Macmillan's Magazine_. Shortly afterwards it was reprintedas a separate pamphlet, with additions, and with the author's name onthe title-page. 

In February, 1868, Carlyle wrote some Recollections of Sir WilliamHamilton, as a contribution to Professor Veitch's Memoir of thataccomplished metaphysician. 

In November, 1870, he addressed a long and very remarkable letterto the _Times_, on the French-German war, which is reprinted in thelatest edition of his collected Miscellanies. 

Two years later (November, 1872) he added a very beautiful Supplementto the People's Edition of his "Life of Schiller, " founded on Saupe's"Schiller and his Father's Household, " and other more recent books onSchiller that had appeared in Germany. 

His last literary productions were a series of papers on "The EarlyKings of Norway, " and an Essay on "The Portraits of John Knox, " whichappeared, in instalments, in _Fraser's Magazine_, in the first fourmonths of 1875. On the 4th December of that year, Carlyle attainedhis eightieth year, and this anniversary was signalised by some of themore distinguished of his friends and admirers by striking a medal, the head being executed by Mr. Boehm, whose noble statue of Carlyle, exhibited in the Royal Academy in the previous year, had won so muchmerited praise from Mr. Ruskin and others. The medal was accompaniedby an address, signed by the subscribers. Carlyle seems to have beenmuch gratified with this honour, which took him quite by surprise, andhe expressed his acknowledgments as follows:--

"This of the medal and formal address of friends was an altogetherunexpected event, to be received as a conspicuous and peculiar honour, without example hitherto anywhere in my life. . . . To you . . . I addressmy thankful acknowledgments, which surely are deep and sincere, andwill beg you to convey the same to all the kind friends so beautifullyconcerned in it. Let no one of you be other than assured that thebeautiful transaction, in result, management, and intention, wasaltogether gratifying, welcome, and honourable to me, and that Icordially thank one and all of you for what you have been pleasedto do. Your fine and noble gift shall remain among my preciouspossessions, and be the symbol to me of something still more _golden_than itself, on the part of my many dear and too generous friends, solong as I continue in this world. 

 "Yours and theirs, from the heart, "T. CARLYLE. "

Carlyle's last public utterances were a letter on the EasternQuestion, addressed to Mr. George Howard, and printed in the _Times_of November 28, 1876, and a letter to the Editor of the _Times_, on"The Crisis, " printed in that journal on May 5, 1877. 

He was now beginning to feel the effects of his great age. Yearly andmonthly he grew more feeble. His wonted walking exercise had to becurtailed, and at last abandoned. He was affectionately and piouslytended during these last years by his niece, Mary Aitken, now Mrs. Alexander Carlyle. In the autumn of 1879 he lost his brother, Dr. JohnAitken Carlyle, the translator of Dante's "Inferno. "

The end came at last, after a long and gradual decay of strength. Thegreat writer and noble-hearted man passed away peacefully at abouthalf-past eight o'clock on the morning of Saturday, February 5, 1881, in the eighty-sixth year of his age. 

His remains were conveyed to Scotland, and were laid in theburial-ground at Ecclefechan, where the ashes of his father andmother, and of others of his kindred, repose. He had executed what isknown in Scotch law as a "deed of mortification, " by virtue ofwhich he bequeathed to Edinburgh University the estate ofCraigenputtoch--which had come to him through his wife--for thefoundation of ten Bursaries in the Faculty of Arts, to be called the"John Welsh Bursaries. " In his Will he bequeathed the books whichhe had used in writing on Cromwell and Friedrich to Harvard College, Massachusetts. 

In less than a month after his death, with a haste on many accountsto be deplored, and which has excited much animadversion, his literaryexecutor, Mr. James Anthony Froude, the historian, issued two volumesof posthumous "Reminiscences, " written by Carlyle, partly in 1832, and partly in 1866-67. The first section consists of a memorial paper, written immediately after his father's death; the second containsReminiscences of his early friend, Edward Irving, commenced at CheyneRow in the autumn of 1866, and finished at Mentone on the 2nd January, 1867. The Reminiscences of Lord Jeffrey were begun on the followingday, and finished on January 19. The paper on Southey and Wordsworth, relegated to the Appendix, was also written at Mentone between the28th January and the 8th March, 1867. The Memorials of his wife, whichfill the greater part of the second volume, were written at CheyneRow, during the month after her death. 

Of the earlier portraits of Carlyle three are specially interesting, 1. The full-length sketch by "Croquis" (Daniel Maclise) which formedone of the _Fraser_ Gallery portraits, and was published in themagazine in June, 1833. (The original sketch of this is now depositedin the Forster Collection at South Kensington. ) 2. Count D'Orsay'ssketch, published by Mitchell in 1839, is highly characteristic ofthe artist. It was taken when no man of position was counted a dutifulsubject who did not wear a black satin stock and a Petersham coat. The great author's own favourite among the early portraits was 3. The sketch by Samuel Laurence, engraved in Horne's "New Spirit of theAge, " published in 1844. Since the art of photography came into vogue, a series of photographs of various degrees of merit and success havebeen executed by Messrs. Elliott and Fry, and by Watkins. The lateMrs. Cameron also produced a photograph of him in her peculiar style, but it was not so successful as her fine portrait of Tennyson. Anoil-painting by Mr. Watts, exhibited some fifteen years ago, and nowalso forming part of the Forster Collection at South Kensington, isremarkable for its weird wildness; but it gave great displeasure tothe old philosopher himself! More lately we have a remarkable portraitby Mr. Whistler, who seized the _tout ensemble_ of his illustrioussitter's character and costume in a very effective manner. The _terracotta_ statue by Mr. Boehm, exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1875, has received such merited meed of enthusiastic praise from Mr. Ruskin that it needs no added praise of ours. It has been excellentlyphotographed from two points of view by Mr. Hedderly, of Riley Street, Chelsea. 

One of the best and happiest of the many likenesses of Mr. Carlylethat appeared during the last decade of his life was a sketch by Mrs. Allingham--a picture as well as a portrait--representing the venerablephilosopher in a long and picturesque dressing-gown, seated on a chairand poring over a folio, in the garden at the back of the quaint oldhouse at Chelsea, which will henceforth, as long as it stands, beassociated with his memory. Beside him on the grass lies a long claypipe (a churchwarden) which he has been smoking in the sweetmorning air. So that altogether, as far as pictorial, graphic, andphotographic art can go, the features, form, and bodily semblance ofCarlyle will be as well known to future generations as they are to ourown. 

 * * * * *

The impression of his brilliant and eloquent talk, though it willperhaps remain, for at least half a century to come, more or lessvivid to some of those of the new generation who were privileged tohear it, will, of course, gradually fade away. But it seemshardly probable that the rich legacy of his long roll ofwritings--historical, biographical, critical--can be regarded as otherthan a permanent one, in which each succeeding generation will findfresh delight and instruction. The series of vivid pictures he hasleft behind in his "French Revolution, " in his "Cromwell, " in his"Frederick, " can hardly become obsolete or cease to be attractive; noris such power of word-painting likely soon to be equalled or everto be surpassed. The salt of humour that savours nearly all he wrote(that lambent humour that lightens and plays over the grimmest andsternest of his pages) will also serve to keep his writings fresh andreadable. Many of his _dicta_ and opinions will doubtless be more andmore called in question, especially in those of his works which aremore directly of a didactic than a narrative character, and in regardto subjects which he was by habit, by mental constitution, and by thatprejudice from which the greatest can never wholly free themselves, incapable of judging broadly or soundly, --such, for instance, as thescope and functions of painting and the fine arts generally, the valueof modern poetry, or the working of Constitutional and Parliamentaryinstitutions. 

 RICHARD HERNE SHEPHERD. 

 _Chelsea, June, 1881_. 

ON THE CHOICE OF BOOKS. 

[Illustration]

 ADDRESS DELIVERED TO THE STUDENTS OF EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY, APRIL 2, 1866. 

GENTLEMEN, I have accepted the office you have elected me to, and have now theduty to return thanks for the great honour done me. Your enthusiasmtowards me, I admit, is very beautiful in itself, however undesirableit may be in regard to the object of it. It is a feeling honourableto all men, and one well known to myself when I was in a positionanalogous to your own. I can only hope that it may endure to theend--that noble desire to honour those whom you think worthy ofhonour, and come to be more and more select and discriminate in thechoice of the object of it; for I can well understand that youwill modify your opinions of me and many things else as you goon. (Laughter and cheers. ) There are now fifty-six years gonelast November since I first entered your city, a boy of not quitefourteen--fifty-six years ago--to attend classes here and gainknowledge of all kinds, I know not what, with feelings of wonder andawe-struck expectation; and now, after a long, long course, thisis what we have come to. (Cheers. ) There is something touchingand tragic, and yet at the same time beautiful, to see the thirdgeneration, as it were, of my dear old native land, rising up andsaying, "Well, you are not altogether an unworthy labourer in thevineyard: you have toiled through a great variety of fortunes, andhave had many judges. " As the old proverb says, "He that builds by thewayside has many masters. " We must expect a variety of judges; but thevoice of young Scotland, through you, is really of some value tome, and I return you many thanks for it, though I cannot describe myemotions to you, and perhaps they will be much more conceivable ifexpressed in silence. (Cheers. )

When this office was proposed to me, some of you know that I was notvery ambitious to accept it, at first. I was taught to believe thatthere were more or less certain important duties which would lie inmy power. This, I confess, was my chief motive in going into it--atleast, in reconciling the objections felt to such things; for if I cando anything to honour you and my dear old _Alma Mater_, why should Inot do so? (Loud cheers. ) Well, but on practically looking into thematter when the office actually came into my hands, I find it growsmore and more uncertain and abstruse to me whether there is much realduty that I can do at all. I live four hundred miles away from you, in an entirely different state of things; and my weak health--now formany years accumulating upon me--and a total unacquaintance withsuch subjects as concern your affairs here, --all this fills mewith apprehension that there is really nothing worth the leastconsideration that I can do on that score. You may, however, dependupon it that if any such duty does arise in any form, I will use mymost faithful endeavour to do whatever is right and proper, accordingto the best of my judgment. (Cheers. )

In the meanwhile, the duty I have at present--which might be verypleasant, but which is quite the reverse, as you may fancy--is toaddress some words to you on some subjects more or less cognate to thepursuits you are engaged in. In fact, I had meant to throw out someloose observations--loose in point of order, I mean--in such a way asthey may occur to me--the truths I have in me about the business youare engaged in, the race you have started on, what kind of race it isyou young gentlemen have begun, and what sort of arena you are likelyto find in this world. I ought, I believe, according to custom, tohave written all that down on paper, and had it read out. That wouldhave been much handier for me at the present moment (a laugh), butwhen I attempted to write, I found that I was not accustomed to writespeeches, and that I did not get on very well. So I flung that away, and resolved to trust to the inspiration of the moment--just to whatcame uppermost. You will therefore have to accept what is readiest, what comes direct from the heart, and you must just take that incompensation for any good order of arrangement there might have beenin it. 

I will endeavour to say nothing that is not true, as far as I canmanage, and that is pretty much all that I can engage for. (A laugh. )Advices, I believe, to young men--and to all men--are very seldom muchvalued. There is a great deal of advising, and very little faithfulperforming. And talk that does not end in any kind of action, isbetter suppressed altogether. I would not, therefore, go much intoadvising; but there is one advice I must give you. It is, in fact, thesummary of all advices, and you have heard it a thousand times, I daresay; but I must, nevertheless, let you hear it the thousand and firsttime, for it is most intensely true, whether you will believe it atpresent or not--namely, that above all things the interest of your ownlife depends upon being diligent now, while it is called to-day, in this place where you have come to get education. Diligent! Thatincludes all virtues in it that a student can have; I mean to includein it all qualities that lead into the acquirement of real instructionand improvement in such a place. If you will believe me, you whoare young, yours is the golden season of life. As you have heard itcalled, so it verily is, the seed-time of life, in which, if you donot sow, or if you sow tares instead of wheat, you cannot expect toreap well afterwards, and you will arrive at indeed little; while inthe course of years, when you come to look back, and if you havenot done what you have heard from your advisers--and among manycounsellers there is wisdom--you will bitterly repent when it is toolate. The habits of study acquired at Universities are of the highestimportance in after-life. At the season when you are in young yearsthe whole mind is, as it were, fluid, and is capable of forming itselfinto any shape that the owner of the mind pleases to order it to formitself into. The mind is in a fluid state, but it hardens up graduallyto the consistency of rock or iron, and you cannot alter the habits ofan old man, but as he has begun he will proceed and go on to the last. By diligence, I mean among other things--and very chiefly--honesty inall your inquiries into what you are about. Pursue your studies in theway your conscience calls honest. More and more endeavour to do that. Keep, I mean to say, an accurate separation of what you have reallycome to know in your own minds, and what is still unknown. Leave allthat on the hypothetical side of the barrier, as things afterwards tobe acquired, if acquired at all; and be careful not to stamp a thingas known when you do not yet know it. Count a thing known only when itis stamped on your mind, so that you may survey it on all sides withintelligence. 

There is such a thing as a man endeavouring to persuade himself, andendeavouring to persuade others, that he knows about things whenhe does not know more than the outside skin of them; and he goesflourishing about with them. ("Hear, hear, " and a laugh. ) There isalso a process called cramming in some Universities (a laugh)--thatis, getting up such points of things as the examiner is likely to putquestions about. Avoid all that as entirely unworthy of an honourablehabit. Be modest, and humble, and diligent in your attention to whatyour teachers tell you, who are profoundly interested in trying tobring you forward in the right way, so far as they have been ableto understand it. Try all things they set before you, in order, ifpossible, to understand them, and to value them in proportion to yourfitness for them. Gradually see what kind of work you can do; for itis the first of all problems for a man to find out what kind of workhe is to do in this universe. In fact, morality as regards study is, as in all other things, the primary consideration, and overridesall others. A dishonest man cannot do anything real; and it would begreatly better if he were tied up from doing any such thing. He doesnothing but darken counsel by the words he utters. That is a very olddoctrine, but a very true one; and you will find it confirmed byall the thinking men that have ever lived in this long series ofgenerations of which we are the latest. 

I daresay you know, very many of you, that it is now seven hundredyears since Universities were first set up in this world of ours. Abelard and other people had risen up with doctrines in them thepeople wished to hear of, and students flocked towards them from allparts of the world. There was no getting the thing recorded in booksas you may now. You had to hear him speaking to you vocally, or elseyou could not learn at all what it was that he wanted to say. And sothey gathered together the various people who had anything to teach, and formed themselves gradually, under the patronage of kingsand other potentates who were anxious about the culture of theirpopulations, nobly anxious for their benefit, and became a University. 

I daresay, perhaps, you have heard it said that all that is greatlyaltered by the invention of printing, which took place about midwaybetween us and the origin of Universities. A man has not now to goaway to where a professor is actually speaking, because in most caseshe can get his doctrine out of him through a book, and can read it, and read it again and again, and study it. I don't know that I know ofany way in which the whole facts of a subject may be more completelytaken in, if our studies are moulded in conformity with it. Nevertheless, Universities have, and will continue to have, anindispensable value in society--a very high value. I consider the veryhighest interests of man vitally intrusted to them. 

In regard to theology, as you are aware, it has been the study of thedeepest heads that have come into the world--what is the nature ofthis stupendous universe, and what its relations to all things, asknown to man, and as only known to the awful Author of it. Infact, the members of the Church keep theology in a lively condition(laughter), for the benefit of the whole population, which is thegreat object of our Universities. I consider it is the same nowintrinsically, though very much forgotten, from many causes, andnot so successful as might be wished at all. (A laugh. ) It remains, however, a very curious truth, what has been said by observant people, that the main use of the Universities in the present age is that, after you have done with all your classes, the next thing is acollection of books, a great library of good books, which you proceedto study and to read. What the Universities have mainly done--what Ihave found the University did for me, was that it taught me to readin various languages and various sciences, so that I could go into thebooks that treated of these things, and try anything I wanted to makemyself master of gradually, as I found it suit me. Whatever you maythink of all that, the clearest and most imperative duty lies onevery one of you to be assiduous in your reading; and learn to be goodreaders, which is, perhaps, a more difficult thing than you imagine. Learn to be discriminative in your reading--to read all kinds ofthings that you have an interest in, and that you find to be reallyfit for what you are engaged in. Of course, at the present time, in agreat deal of the reading incumbent on you you must be guided by thebooks recommended to you by your professors for assistance towards theprelections. And then, when you get out of the University, and go intostudies of your own, you will find it very important that you haveselected a field, a province in which you can study and work. 

The most unhappy of all men is the man that cannot tell what he isgoing to do, that has got no work cut out for him in the world, anddoes not go into it. For work is the grand cure of all the maladiesand miseries that ever beset mankind--honest work, which you intendgetting done. If you are in a strait, a very good indication as tochoice--perhaps the best you could get--is a book you have a greatcuriosity about. You are then in the readiest and best of all possibleconditions to improve by that book. It is analogous to what doctorstell us about the physical health and appetites of the patient. Youmust learn to distinguish between false appetite and real. There issuch a thing as a false appetite, which will lead a man into vagarieswith regard to diet, will tempt him to eat spicy things which heshould not eat at all, and would not but that it is toothsome, and forthe moment in baseness of mind. A man ought to inquire and findout what he really and truly has an appetite for--what suits hisconstitution; and that, doctors tell him, is the very thing he oughtto have in general. And so with books. As applicable to almost allof you, I will say that it is highly expedient to go into history--toinquire into what has passed before you in the families of men. Thehistory of the Romans and Greeks will first of all concern you; andyou will find that all the knowledge you have got will be extremelyapplicable to elucidate that. There you have the most remarkable raceof men in the world set before you, to say nothing of the languages, which your professors can better explain, and which, I believe, areadmitted to be the most perfect orders of speech we have yet foundto exist among men. And you will find, if you read well, a pair ofextremely remarkable nations shining in the records left by themselvesas a kind of pillar to light up life in the darkness of the pastages; and it will be well worth your while if you can get into theunderstanding of what these people were and what they did. You willfind a great deal of hearsay, as I have found, that does not touch onthe matter; but perhaps some of you will get to see a Roman face toface; you will know in some measure how they contrived to exist, andto perform these feats in the world; I believe, also, you will finda thing not much noted, that there was a very great deal of deepreligion in its form in both nations. That is noted by the wisest ofhistorians, and particularly by Ferguson, who is particularly wellworth reading on Roman history; and I believe he was an alumnus in ourown University. His book is a very creditable book. He points out theprofoundly religious nature of the Roman people, notwithstanding thewildness and ferociousness of their nature. They believed that JupiterOptimus--Jupiter Maximus--was lord of the universe, and that hehad appointed the Romans to become the chief of men, provided theyfollowed his commands--to brave all difficulty, and to stand up withan invincible front--to be ready to do and die; and also to have thesame sacred regard to veracity, to promise, to integrity, and all thevirtues that surround that noblest quality of men--courage--towhich the Romans gave the name of virtue, manhood, as the one thingennobling for a man. 

In the literary ages of Rome, that had very much decayed away; butstill it had retained its place among the lower classes of the Romanpeople. Of the deeply religious nature of the Greeks, along with theirbeautiful and sunny effulgences of art, you have a striking proof, ifyou look for it. 

In the tragedies of Sophocles, there is a most distinct recognition ofthe eternal justice of Heaven, and the unfailing punishment of crimeagainst the laws of God. 

I believe you will find in all histories that that has been at thehead and foundation of them all, and that no nation that didnot contemplate this wonderful universe with an awe-stricken andreverential feeling that there was a great unknown, omnipotent, andall-wise, and all-virtuous Being, superintending all men in it, andall interests in it--no nation ever came to very much, nor did any maneither, who forgot that. If a man did forget that, he forgot the mostimportant part of his mission in this world. 

In our own history of England, which you will take a great deal ofnatural pains to make yourselves acquainted with, you will find itbeyond all others worthy of your study; because I believe that theBritish nation--and I include in them the Scottish nation--produceda finer set of men than any you will find it possible to get anywhereelse in the world. (Applause. ) I don't know in any history ofGreece or Rome where you will get so fine a man as Oliver Cromwell. (Applause. ) And we have had men worthy of memory in our little cornerof the island here as well as others, and our history has been strongat least in being connected with the world itself--for if you examinewell you will find that John Knox was the author, as it were, ofOliver Cromwell; that the Puritan revolution would never have takenplace in England at all if it had not been for that Scotchman. (Applause. ) This is an arithmetical fact, and is not prompted bynational vanity on my part at all. (Laughter and applause. ) And itis very possible, if you look at the struggle that was going on inEngland, as I have had to do in my time, you will see that people wereoverawed with the immense impediments lying in the way. 

A small minority of God-fearing men in the country were flying awaywith any ship they could get to New England, rather than take the lionby the beard. They durstn't confront the powers with their most justcomplaint to be delivered from idolatry. They wanted to make thenation altogether conformable to the Hebrew Bible, which theyunderstood to be according to the will of God; and there could be noaim more legitimate. However, they could not have got their desirefulfilled at all if Knox had not succeeded by the firmness andnobleness of his mind. For he is also of the select of the earth tome--John Knox. (Applause. ) What he has suffered from the ungratefulgenerations that have followed him should really make us humbleourselves to the dust, to think that the most excellent man ourcountry has produced, to whom we owe everything that distinguishesus among modern nations, should have been sneered at and abused bypeople. Knox was heard by Scotland--the people heard him with themarrow of their bones--they took up his doctrine, and they defiedprincipalities and powers to move them from it. "We must have it, "they said. 

It was at that time the Puritan struggle arose in England, and youknow well that the Scottish Earls and nobility, with their tenantry, marched away to Dunse-hill, and sat down there; and just in the courseof that struggle, when it was either to be suppressed or broughtinto greater vitality, they encamped on the top of Dunse-hill thirtythousand armed men, drilled for that occasion, each regiment aroundits landlord, its earl, or whatever he might be called, and eagerfor Christ's Crown and Covenant. That was the signal for all Englandrising up into unappeasable determination to have the Gospel therealso, and you know it went on and came to be a contest whetherthe Parliament or the King should rule--whether it should be oldformalities and use and wont, or something that had been of newconceived in the souls of men--namely, a divine determination to walkaccording to the laws of God here as the sum of all prosperity--whichof these should have the mastery; and after a long, long agony ofstruggle, it was decided--the way we know. I should say also of thatProtectorate of Oliver Cromwell's--notwithstanding the abuse it hasencountered, and the denial of everybody that it was able to get on inthe world, and so on--it appears to me to have been the most salutarything in the modern history of England on the whole. If OliverCromwell had continued it out, I don't know what it would have cometo. It would have got corrupted perhaps in other hands, and couldnot have gone on, but it was pure and true to the last fibre in hismind--there was truth in it when he ruled over it. 

Machiavelli has remarked, in speaking about the Romans, thatdemocracy cannot exist anywhere in the world; as a Government it is animpossibility that it should be continued, and he goes on proving thatin his own way. I do not ask you all to follow him in his conviction(hear); but it is to him a clear truth that it is a solecism andimpossibility that the universal mass of men should govern themselves. He says of the Romans that they continued a long time, but it waspurely in virtue of this item in their constitution--namely, that theyhad all the conviction in their minds that it was solemnly necessaryat times to appoint a Dictator--a man who had the power of life anddeath over everything--who degraded men out of their places, orderedthem to execution, and did whatever seemed to him good in the nameof God above him. He was commanded to take care that the Republicsuffered no detriment, and Machiavelli calculates that that was thething that purified the social system from time to time, and enabledit to hang on as it did--an extremely likely thing if it was composedof nothing but bad and tumultuous men triumphing in general over thebetter, and all going the bad road, in fact. Well, Oliver Cromwell'sProtectorate, or Dictatorate if you will, lasted for about ten years, and you will find that nothing that was contrary to the laws of Heavenwas allowed to live by Oliver. (A laugh, and applause. ) For example, it was found by his Parliament, called "Barebones"--the most zealousof all Parliaments probably--the Court of Chancery in England was ina state that was really capable of no apology--no man could get up andsay that that was a right court. There were, I think, fifteen thousandor fifteen hundred--(laughter)--I don't really remember which, butwe shall call it by the last (renewed laughter)--there were fifteenhundred cases lying in it undecided; and one of them, I remember, fora large amount of money, was eighty-three years old, and it was goingon still. Wigs were waving over it, and lawyers were taking theirfees, and there was no end of it, upon which the Barebones people, after deliberation about it, thought it was expedient, and commandedby the Author of Man and the Fountain of Justice, and for the trueand right, to abolish the court. Really, I don't know who could havedissented from that opinion. At the same time, it was thought by thosewho were wiser, and had more experience of the world, that it was avery dangerous thing, and would never suit at all. The lawyers beganto make an immense noise about it. (Laughter. ) All the public, thegreat mass of solid and well-disposed people who had got no deepinsight into such matters, were very adverse to it, and the presidentof it, old Sir Francis Rous, who translated the Psalms--those thatwe sing every Sunday in the church yet--a very good man and a wiseman--the Provost of Eton--he got the minority, or I don't know whetheror no he did not persuade the majority--he, at any rate, got a greatnumber of the Parliament to go to Oliver the Dictator, and laydown their functions altogether, and declare officially with theirsignature on Monday morning that the Parliament was dissolved. 

The thing was passed on Saturday night, and on Monday morning Rouscame and said, "We cannot carry on the affair any longer, and weremit it into the hands of your Highness. " Oliver in that way becameProtector a second time. 

I give you this as an instance that Oliver felt that the Parliamentthat had been dismissed had been perfectly right with regard toChancery, and that there was no doubt of the propriety of abolishingChancery, or reforming it in some kind of way. He considered it, andthis is what he did. He assembled sixty of the wisest lawyers to befound in England. Happily, there were men great in the law--men whovalued the laws as much as anybody does now, I suppose. (A laugh. )Oliver said to them, "Go and examine this thing, and in the name ofGod inform me what is necessary to be done with regard to it. You willsee how we may clean out the foul things in it that render it poisonto everybody. " Well, they sat down then, and in the course of sixweeks--there was no public speaking then, no reporting of speeches, and no trouble of any kind; there was just the business in hand--theygot sixty propositions fixed in their minds of the things thatrequired to be done. And upon these sixty propositions Chancery wasreconstituted and remodelled, and so it has lasted to our time. It hadbecome a nuisance, and could not have continued much longer. 

That is an instance of the manner in which things were done when aDictatorship prevailed in the country, and that was what the Dictatordid. Upon the whole, I do not think that, in general, out of commonhistory books, you will ever get into the real history of thiscountry, or anything particular which it would beseem you to know. Youmay read very ingenious and very clever books by men whom it would bethe height of insolence in me to do any other thing than expressmy respect for. But their position is essentially sceptical. Manis unhappily in that condition that he will make only a temporaryexplanation of anything, and you will not be able, if you are like theman, to understand how this island came to be what it is. You will notfind it recorded in books. You will find recorded in books a jumbleof tumults, disastrous ineptitudes, and all that kind of thing. But toget what you want you will have to look into side sources, and inquirein all directions. 

I remember getting Collins' _Peerage_ to read--a very poor peerage asa work of genius, but an excellent book for diligence and fidelity--Iwas writing on Oliver Cromwell at the time. (Applause. ) I could get nobiographical dictionary, and I thought the peerage book would helpme, at least tell me whether people were old or young; and about allpersons concerned in the actions about which I wrote. I got a greatdeal of help out of poor Collins. He was a diligent and dark Londonbookseller of about a hundred years ago, who compiled out of all kindsof treasury chests, archives, books that were authentic, and outof all kinds of things out of which he could get the information hewanted. He was a very meritorious man. I not only found the solutionof anything I wanted there, but I began gradually to perceive thisimmense fact, which I really advise every one of you who read historyto look out for and read for--if he has not found it--it was thatthe kings of England all the way from the Norman Conquest down tothe times of Charles I. Had appointed, so far as they knew, those whodeserved to be appointed, peers. They were all Royal men, with mindsfull of justice and valour and humanity, and all kinds of qualitiesthat are good for men to have who ought to rule over others. Thentheir genealogy was remarkable--and there is a great deal more ingenealogies than is generally believed at present. 

I never heard tell of any clever man that came out of entirely stupidpeople. If you look around the families of your acquaintance, you willsee such cases in all directions. I know that it has been the case inmine. I can trace the father, and the son, and the grandson, and thefamily stamp is quite distinctly legible upon each of them, so thatit goes for a great deal--the hereditary principle in Government as inother things; and it must be recognised so soon as there is any fixityin things. 

You will remark that if at any time the genealogy of a peeragefails--if the man that actually holds the peerage is a fool in theseearnest striking times, the man gets into mischief and gets intotreason--he gets himself extinguished altogether, in fact. (Laughter. )

From these documents of old Collins it seems that a peer conductshimself in a solemn, good, pious, manly kind of way when he takesleave of life, and when he has hospitable habits, and is valiant inhis procedure throughout; and that in general a King, with a nobleapproximation to what was right, had nominated this man, saying "Comeyou to me, sir; come out of the common level of the people, whereyou are liable to be trampled upon; come here and take a district ofcountry and make it into your own image more or less; be a king underme, and understand that that is your function. " I say this is the mostdivine thing that a human being can do to other human beings, and nokind of being whatever has so much of the character of God Almighty'sDivine Government as that thing we see that went all over England, andthat is the grand soul of England's history. 

It is historically true that down to the time of Charles I. , it wasnot understood that any man was made a peer without having a merit inhim to constitute him a proper subject for a peerage. In CharlesI. 's time it grew to be known or said that if a man was by birth agentleman, and was worth £10, 000 a-year, and bestowed his gifts up anddown among courtiers, he could be made a peer. Under Charles II. Itwent on with still more rapidity, and has been going on with everincreasing velocity until we see the perfect break-neck pace at whichthey are now going. (A laugh. ) And now a peerage is a paltry kind ofthing to what it was in these old times, I could go into a great manymore details about things of that sort, but I must turn to anotherbranch of the subject. 

One remark more about your reading. I do not know whether it has beensufficiently brought home to you that there are two kinds of books. When a man is reading on any kind of subject, in most departments ofbooks--in all books, if you take it in a wide sense--you will findthat there is a division of good books and bad books--there is a goodkind of a book and a bad kind of a book. I am not to assume that youare all ill acquainted with this; but I may remind you that it is avery important consideration at present. It casts aside altogether theidea that people have that if they are reading any book--that ifan ignorant man is reading any book, he is doing rather better thannothing at all. I entirely call that in question. I even venture todeny it. (Laughter and cheers. ) It would be much safer and betterwould he have no concern with books at all than with some of them. Youknow these are my views. There are a number, an increasing number, ofbooks that are decidedly to him not useful. (Hear. ) But he will learnalso that a certain number of books were written by a supreme, noblekind of people--not a very great number--but a great number adheremore or less to that side of things. In short, as I have writtenit down somewhere else, I conceive that books are like men'ssouls--divided into sheep and goats. (Laughter and applause. ) Someof them are calculated to be of very great advantage in teaching--inforwarding the teaching of all generations. Others are going down, down, doing more and more, wilder and wilder mischief. 

And for the rest, in regard to all your studies here, and whateveryou may learn, you are to remember that the object is not particularknowledge--that you are going to get higher in technical perfections, and all that sort of thing. There is a higher aim lies at the rear ofall that, especially among those who are intended for literary, forspeaking pursuits--the sacred profession. You are ever to bear inmind that there lies behind that the acquisition of what may be calledwisdom--namely, sound appreciation and just decision as to all theobjects that come round about you, and the habit of behaving withjustice and wisdom. In short, great is wisdom--great is the valueof wisdom. It cannot be exaggerated. The highest achievement ofman--"Blessed is he that getteth understanding. " And that, I believe, occasionally may be missed very easily; but never more easily thannow, I think. If that is a failure, all is a failure. However, I willnot touch further upon that matter. 

In this University I learn from many sides that there is a great andconsiderable stir about endowments. Oh, I should have said in regardto book reading, if it be so very important, how very useful wouldan excellent library be in every University. I hope that will not beneglected by those gentlemen who have charge of you--and, indeed, I amhappy to hear that your library is very much improved since the time Iknew it; and I hope it will go on improving more and more. You requiremoney to do that, and you require also judgment in the selectors ofthe books--pious insight into what is really for the advantage ofhuman souls, and the exclusion of all kinds of clap-trap books whichmerely excite the astonishment of foolish people. (Laughter. ) Wisebooks--as much as possible good books. 

As I was saying, there appears to be a great demand for endowments--anassiduous and praiseworthy industry for getting new funds collectedfor encouraging the ingenious youth of Universities, especiallyin this the chief University of the country. (Hear, hear. ) Well, Ientirely participate in everybody's approval of the movement. Itis very desirable. It should be responded to, and one expects mostassuredly will. At least, if it is not, it will be shameful to thecountry of Scotland, which never was so rich in money as at thepresent moment, and never stood so much in need of getting nobleUniversities to counteract many influences that are springing upalongside of money. It should not be backward in coming forward inthe way of endowments (a laugh)--at least, in rivalry to our rudeold barbarous ancestors, as we have been pleased to call them. Suchmunificence as theirs is beyond all praise, to whom I am sorry to saywe are not yet by any manner of means equal or approaching equality. (Laughter. ) There is an overabundance of money, and sometimes I cannothelp thinking that, probably, never has there been at any other timein Scotland the hundredth part of the money that now is, or even thethousandth part, for wherever I go there is that gold-nuggeting (alaugh)--that prosperity. 

Many men are counting their balances by millions. Money was never soabundant, and nothing that is good to be done with it. ("Hear, hear, "and a laugh. ) No man knows--or very few men know--what benefit to getout of his money. In fact, it too often is secretly a curse to him. Much better for him never to have had any. But I do not expect thatgenerally to be believed. (Laughter. ) Nevertheless, I should think ita beautiful relief to any man that has an honest purpose strugglingin him to bequeath a handsome house of refuge, so to speak, for somemeritorious man who may hereafter be born into the world, to enablehim a little to get on his way. To do, in fact, as those old Normankings whom I have described to you--to raise a man out of the dirt andmud where he is getting trampled, unworthily on his part, into somekind of position where he may acquire the power to do some good in hisgeneration. I hope that as much as possible will be done in that way;that efforts will not be relaxed till the thing is in a satisfactorystate. At the same time, in regard to the classical department ofthings, it is to be desired that it were properly supported--thatwe could allow people to go and devote more leisure possibly to thecultivation of particular departments. 

We might have more of this from Scotch Universities than we have. Iam bound, however, to say that it does not appear as if of late timesendowment was the real soul of the matter. The English, for example, are the richest people for endowments on the face of the earth intheir Universities; and it is a remarkable fact that since the timeof Bentley you cannot name anybody that has gained a great name inscholarship among them, or constituted a point of revolution in thepursuits of men in that way. The man that did that is a man worthyof being remembered among men, although he may be a poor man, and notendowed with worldly wealth. One man that actually did constitutea revolution was the son of a poor weaver in Saxony, who edited his"Tibullus" in Dresden in the room of a poor comrade, and who, while hewas editing his "Tibullus, " had to gather his pease-cod shells on thestreets and boil them for his dinner. That was his endowment. But hewas recognised soon to have done a great thing. His name was Heyne. 

I can remember it was quite a revolution in my mind when I got holdof that man's book on Virgil. I found that for the first time I hadunderstood him--that he had introduced me for the first time intoan insight of Roman life, and pointed out the circumstances in whichthese were written, and here was interpretation; and it has gone on inall manner of development, and has spread out into other countries. 

Upon the whole, there is one reason why endowments are not given nowas they were in old days, when they founded abbeys, colleges, and allkinds of things of that description, with such success as we know. Allthat has changed now. Why that has decayed away may in part be thatpeople have become doubtful that colleges are now the real sourcesof that which I call wisdom, whether they are anything more--anythingmuch more--than a cultivating of man in the specific arts. In fact, there has been a suspicion of that kind in the world for a long time. (A laugh. ) That is an old saying, an old proverb, "An ounce of motherwit is worth a pound of clergy. " (Laughter. ) There is a suspicion thata man is perhaps not nearly so wise as he looks, or because he haspoured out speech so copiously. (Laughter. )

When the seven free Arts on which the old Universities were based cameto be modified a little, in order to be convenient for or to promotethe wants of modern society--though, perhaps, some of them areobsolete enough even yet for some of us--there arose a feeling thatmere vocality, mere culture of speech, if that is what comes out of aman, though he may be a great speaker, an eloquent orator, yet thereis no real substance there--if that is what was required and aimed atby the man himself, and by the community that set him upon becominga learned man. Maid-servants, I hear people complaining, are gettinginstructed in the "ologies, " and so on, and are apparently totallyignorant of brewing, boiling, and baking (laughter); above all things, not taught what is necessary to be known, from the highest to thelowest--strict obedience, humility, and correct moral conduct. Oh, itis a dismal chapter, all that, if one went into it!

What has been done by rushing after fine speech? I have written downsome very fierce things about that, perhaps considerably more emphaticthan I would wish them to be now; but they are deeply my conviction. (Hear, hear. ) There is very great necessity indeed of getting a littlemore silent than we are. It seems to me the finest nations of theworld--the English and the American--are going all away into windand tongue. (Applause and laughter. ) But it will appear sufficientlytragical by-and-bye, long after I am away out of it. Silence is theeternal duty of a man. He wont get to any real understanding ofwhat is complex, and, what is more than any other, pertinent to hisinterests, without maintaining silence. "Watch the tongue, " is a veryold precept, and a most true one. I do not want to discourage anyof you from your Demosthenes, and your studies of the niceties oflanguage, and all that. Believe me, I value that as much as any ofyou. I consider it a very graceful thing, and a proper thing, forevery human creature to know what the implement which he uses incommunicating his thoughts is, and how to make the very utmost of it. I want you to study Demosthenes, and know all his excellencies. At thesame time, I must say that speech does not seem to me, on the whole, to have turned to any good account. 

Why tell me that a man is a fine speaker if it is not the truth thathe is speaking? Phocion, who did not speak at all, was a great dealnearer hitting the mark than Demosthenes. (Laughter. ) He used to tellthe Athenians--"You can't fight Philip. You have not the slightestchance with him. He is a man who holds his tongue; he has greatdisciplined armies; he can brag anybody you like in your cities here;and he is going on steadily with an unvarying aim towards his object:and he will infallibly beat any kind of men such as you, goingon raging from shore to shore with all that rampant nonsense. "Demosthenes said to him one day--"The Athenians will get mad some dayand kill you. " "Yes, " Phocion says, "when they are mad; and you assoon as they get sane again. " (Laughter. )

It is also told about him going to Messina on some deputation thatthe Athenians wanted on some kind of matter of an intricate andcontentious nature, that Phocion went with some story in his mouth tospeak about. He was a man of few words--no unveracity; and after hehad gone on telling the story a certain time there was one burst ofinterruption. One man interrupted with something he tried to answer, and then another; and, finally, the people began bragging and bawling, and no end of debate, till it ended in the want of power in the peopleto say any more. Phocion drew back altogether, struck dumb, and wouldnot speak another word to any man; and he left it to them to decide inany way they liked. 

It appears to me there is a kind of eloquence in that which is equalto anything Demosthenes ever said--"Take your own way, and let me outaltogether. " (Applause. )

All these considerations, and manifold more connected withthem--innumerable considerations, resulting from observation of theworld at this moment--have led many people to doubt of the salutaryeffect of vocal education altogether. I do not mean to say it shouldbe entirely excluded; but I look to something that will take holdof the matter much more closely, and not allow it slip out of ourfingers, and remain worse than it was. For if a good speaker--aneloquent speaker--is not speaking the truth, is there a more horridkind of object in creation? (Loud cheers. ) Of such speech I hear allmanner and kind of people say it is excellent; but I care very littleabout how he said it, provided I understand it, and it be true. Excellent speaker! but what if he is telling me things that areuntrue, that are not the fact about it--if he has formed a wrongjudgment about it--if he has no judgment in his mind to form a rightconclusion in regard to the matter? An excellent speaker of that kindis, as it were, saying--"Ho, every one that wants to be persuadedof the thing that is not true, come hither. " (Great laughter andapplause. ) I would recommend you to be very chary of that kind ofexcellent speech. (Renewed laughter. )

Well, all that being the too well-known product of our method of vocaleducation--the mouth merely operating on the tongue of the pupil, andteaching him to wag it in a particular way (laughter)--it had made agreat many thinking men entertain a very great distrust of this notvery salutary way of procedure, and they have longed for some kind ofpractical way of working out the business. There would be room fora great deal of description about it if I went into it; but I mustcontent myself with saying that the most remarkable piece of readingthat you may be recommended to take and try if you can study is a bookby Goethe--one of his last books, which he wrote when he was an oldman, about seventy years of age--I think one of the most beautifulhe ever wrote, full of mild wisdom, and which is found to be verytouching by those who have eyes to discern and hearts to feel it. Itis one of the pieces in "Wilhelm Meister's Travels. " I read it throughmany years ago; and, of course, I had to read into it very hard whenI was translating it (applause), and it has always dwelt in my mindas about the most remarkable bit of writing that I have known to beexecuted in these late centuries. I have often said, there are tenpages of that which, if ambition had been my only rule, I would ratherhave written than have written all the books that have appeared sinceI came into the world. (Cheers. ) Deep, deep is the meaning of whatis said there. They turn on the Christian religion and the religiousphenomena of Christian life--altogether sketched out in the most airy, graceful, delicately-wise kind of way, so as to keep himself outof the common controversies of the street and of the forum, yet toindicate what was the result of things he had been long meditatingupon. Among others, he introduces, in an aërial, flighty kind of way, here and there a touch which grows into a beautiful picture--a schemeof entirely mute education, at least with no more speech than isabsolutely necessary for what they have to do. 

Three of the wisest men that can be got are met to consider what isthe function which transcends all others in importance to build upthe young generation, which shall be free from all that perilous stuffthat has been weighing us down and clogging every step, and which isthe only thing we can hope to go on with if we would leave the worlda little better, and not the worse of our having been in it for thosewho are to follow. The man who is the eldest of the three says toGoethe, "You give by nature to the well-formed children you bring intothe world a great many precious gifts, and very frequently these arebest of all developed by nature herself, with a very slight assistancewhere assistance is seen to be wise and profitable, and forbearancevery often on the part of the overlooker of the process of education;but there is one thing that no child brings into the world with it, and without which all other things are of no use. " Wilhelm, who isthere beside him, says, "What is that?" "All who enter the world wantit, " says the eldest; "perhaps you yourself. " Wilhelm says, "Well, tell me what it is. " "It is, " says the eldest, "reverence--_Ehrfurcht_--Reverence! Honour done to those who aregrander and better than you, without fear; distinct from fear. "_Ehrfurcht_--"the soul of all religion that ever has been amongmen, or ever will be. " And he goes into practicality. He practicallydistinguishes the kinds of religion that are in the world, and hemakes out three reverences. The boys are all trained to go throughcertain gesticulations, to lay their hands on their breast and lookup to heaven, and they give their three reverences. The first andsimplest is that of reverence for what is above us. It is the soulof all the Pagan religions; there is nothing better in man than that. Then there is reverence for what is around us or about us--reverencefor our equals, and to which he attributes an immense power in theculture of man. The third is reverence for what is beneath us--tolearn to recognise in pain, sorrow, and contradiction, even in thosethings, odious as they are to flesh and blood--to learn that therelies in these a priceless blessing. And he defines that as beingthe soul of the Christian religion--the highest of all religions; aheight, as Goethe says--and that is very true, even to the letter, asI consider--a height to which the human species was fated and enabledto attain, and from which, having once attained it, it can neverretrograde. It cannot descend down below that permanently, Goethe'sidea is. 

Often one thinks it was good to have a faith of that kind--thatalways, even in the most degraded, sunken, and unbelieving times, hecalculates there will be found some few souls who will recognise whatthat meant; and that the world, having once received it, there is nofear of its retrograding. He goes on then to tell us the way in whichthey seek to teach boys, in the sciences particularly, whatever theboy is fit for. Wilhelm left his own boy there, expecting they wouldmake him a Master of Arts, or something of that kind; and when he cameback for him he saw a thundering cloud of dust coming over the plain, of which he could make nothing. It turned out to be a tempest of wildhorses, managed by young lads who had a turn for hunting with theirgrooms. His own son was among them, and he found that the breaking ofcolts was the thing he was most suited for. (Laughter. ) This iswhat Goethe calls Art, which I should not make clear to you by anydefinition unless it is clear already. (A laugh. ) I would not attemptto define it as music, painting, and poetry, and so on; it is in quitea higher sense than the common one, and in which, I am afraid, most ofour painters, poets, and music men would not pass muster. (A laugh. )He considers that the highest pitch to which human culture can go; andhe watches with great industry how it is to be brought about with menwho have a turn for it. 

Very wise and beautiful it is. It gives one an idea that somethinggreatly better is possible for man in the world. I confess it seems tome it is a shadow of what will come, unless the world is to come toa conclusion that is perfectly frightful; some kind of scheme ofeducation like that, presided over by the wisest and most sacred menthat can be got in the world, and watching from a distance--a trainingin practicality at every turn; no speech in it except that speech thatis to be followed by action, for that ought to be the rule as nearlyas possible among them. For rarely should men speak at all unless itis to say that thing that is to be done; and let him go and do hispart in it, and to say no more about it. I should say there is nothingin the world you can conceive so difficult, _prima facie_, as thatof getting a set of men gathered together--rough, rude, and ignorantpeople--gather them together, promise them a shilling a day, rankthem up, give them very severe and sharp drill, and by bullying anddrill--for the word "drill" seems as if it meant the treatment thatwould force them to learn--they learn what it is necessary to learn;and there is the man, a piece of an animated machine, a wonder ofwonders to look at. He will go and obey one man, and walk into thecannon's mouth for him, and do anything whatever that is commanded ofhim by his general officer. And I believe all manner of things inthis way could be done if there were anything like the same attentionbestowed. Very many things could be regimented and organized into themute system of education that Goethe evidently adumbrates there. But Ibelieve, when people look into it, it will be found that they will notbe very long in trying to make some efforts in that direction; for thesaving of human labour, and the avoidance of human misery, would beuncountable if it were set about and begun even in part. 

Alas! it is painful to think how very far away it is--any fulfilmentof such things; for I need not hide from you, young gentlemen--andthat is one of the last things I am going to tell you--that you havegot into a very troublous epoch of the world; and I don't thinkyou will find it improve the footing you have, though you have manyadvantages which we had not. You have careers open to you, by publicexaminations and so on, which is a thing much to be approved, andwhich we hope to see perfected more and more. All that was entirelyunknown in my time, and you have many things to recognise asadvantages. But you will find the ways of the world more anarchicalthan ever, I think. As far as I have noticed, revolution has come uponus. We have got into the age of revolutions. All kinds of things arecoming to be subjected to fire, as it were; hotter and hotter the windrises around everything. 

Curious to say, now in Oxford and other places that used to seem tolive at anchor in the stream of time, regardless of all changes, theyare getting into the highest humour of mutation, and all sorts of newideas are getting afloat. It is evident that whatever is not made ofasbestos will have to be burnt in this world. It will not stand theheat it is getting exposed to. And in saying that, it is but sayingin other words that we are in an epoch of anarchy--anarchy _plus_ theconstable. (Laughter. ) There is nobody that picks one's pocket withoutsome policeman being ready to take him up. (Renewed laughter. ) But inevery other thing he is the son, not of Kosmos, but of Chaos. He isa disobedient, and reckless, and altogether a waste kind ofobject--commonplace man in these epochs; and the wiser kind ofman--the select, of whom I hope you will be part--has more and more aset time to it to look forward, and will require to move with doublewisdom; and will find, in short, that the crooked things that he hasto pull straight in his own life, or round about, wherever he may be, are manifold, and will task all his strength wherever he may go. 

But why should I complain of that either?--for that is a thing aman is born to in all epochs. He is born to expend every particle ofstrength that God Almighty has given him, in doing the work he findshe is fit for--to stand it out to the last breath of life, and do hisbest. We are called upon to do that; and the reward we all get--whichwe are perfectly sure of if we have merited it--is that we have gotthe work done, or, at least, that we have tried to do the work; forthat is a great blessing in itself; and I should say there is not verymuch more reward than that going in this world. If the man gets meatand clothes, what matters it whether he have £10, 000, or £10, 000, 000, or £70 a-year. He can get meat and clothes for that; and he will findvery little difference intrinsically, if he is a wise man. 

I warmly second the advice of the wisest of men--"Don't be ambitious;don't be at all too desirous to success; be loyal and modest. " Cutdown the proud towering thoughts that you get into you, or see they bepure as well as high. There is a nobler ambition than the gaining ofall California would be, or the getting of all the suffrages that areon the planet just now. (Loud and prolonged cheers. )

Finally, gentlemen, I have one advice to give you, which ispractically of very great importance, though a very humble one. 

I have no doubt you will have among you people ardently bent toconsider life cheap, for the purpose of getting forward in what theyare aiming at of high; and you are to consider throughout, much morethan is done at present, that health is a thing to be attended tocontinually--that you are to regard that as the very highest of alltemporal things for you. (Applause. ) There is no kind of achievementyou could make in the world that is equal to perfect health. What arenuggets and millions? The French financier said, "Alas! why is thereno sleep to be sold?" Sleep was not in the market at any quotation. (Laughter and applause. )

It is a curious thing that I remarked long ago, and have oftenturned in my head, that the old word for "holy" in the Germanlanguage--_heilig_--also means "healthy. " And so _Heil-bronn_ means"holy-well, " or "healthy-well. " We have in the Scotch "hale;" and, I suppose our English word "whole"--with a "w"--all of one piece, without any hole in it--is the same word. I find that you couldnot get any better definition of what "holy" really is than"healthy--completely healthy. " _Mens sana in corpore sano_. (Applause. )

A man with his intellect a clear, plain, geometric mirror, brilliantlysensitive of all objects and impressions around it, and imagining allthings in their correct proportions--not twisted up into convex orconcave, and distorting everything, so that he cannot see the truth ofthe matter without endless groping and manipulation--healthy, clear, and free, and all round about him. We never can attain that at all. In fact, the operations we have got into are destructive of it. Youcannot, if you are going to do any decisive intellectual operation--ifyou are going to write a book--at least, I never could--withoutgetting decidedly made ill by it, and really you must if it is yourbusiness--and you must follow out what you are at--and it sometimesis at the expense of health. Only remember at all times to get backas fast as possible out of it into health, and regard the realequilibrium as the centre of things. You should always look at the_heilig_, which means holy, and holy means healthy. 

Well, that old etymology--what a lesson it is against certain gloomy, austere, ascetic people, that have gone about as if this world wereall a dismal-prison house! It has, indeed, got all the ugly things init that I have been alluding to; but there is an eternal sky over it, and the blessed sunshine, verdure of spring, and rich autumn, and allthat in it, too. Piety does not mean that a man should make a sourface about things, and refuse to enjoy in moderation what his Makerhas given. Neither do you find it to have been so with old Knox. Ifyou look into him you will find a beautiful Scotch humour in him, aswell as the grimmest and sternest truth when necessary, and a greatdeal of laughter. We find really some of the sunniest glimpses ofthings come out of Knox that I have seen in any man; for instance, inhis "History of the Reformation, " which is a book I hope every one ofyou will read--a glorious book. 

On the whole, I would bid you stand up to your work, whatever it maybe, and not be afraid of it--not in sorrows or contradiction to yield, but pushing on towards the goal. And don't suppose that people arehostile to you in the world. You will rarely find anybody designedlydoing you ill. You may feel often as if the whole world is obstructingyou, more or less; but you will find that to be because the worldis travelling in a different way from you, and rushing on in its ownpath. Each man has only an extremely good-will to himself--which hehas a right to have--and is moving on towards his object. Keep out ofliterature as a general rule, I should say also. (Laughter. ) If youfind many people who are hard and indifferent to you in a world thatyou consider to be unhospitable and cruel--as often, indeed, happensto a tender-hearted, stirring young creature--you will also find thereare noble hearts who will look kindly on you, and their help will beprecious to you beyond price. You will get good and evil as you go on, and have the success that has been appointed to you. 

I will wind up with a small bit of verse that is from Goethe also, and has often gone through my mind. To me it has the tone of a modernpsalm in it in some measure. It is sweet and clear. The clearestof sceptical men had not anything like so clear a mind as that manhad--freer from cant and misdirected notion of any kind than any manin these ages has been This is what the poet says:--

 The Future hides in it Gladness and sorrow: We press still thorow; Nought that abides in it Daunting us--Onward!

 And solemn before us, Veiled, the dark Portal, Goal of all mortal. Stars silent rest o'er us-- Graves under us, silent. 

 While earnest thou gazest Comes boding of terror, Come phantasm and error; Perplexes the bravest With doubt and misgiving. 

 But heard are the voices, Heard are the Sages, The Worlds and the Ages: "Choose well: your choice is Brief, and yet endless. "

 Here eyes do regard you In Eternity's stillness; Here is all fulness, Ye brave, to reward you. Work, and despair not. [A]

[Footnote A: Originally published in Carlyle's "Past and Present, "(Lond. 1843, ) p. 318, and introduced there by the following words:--

"My candid readers, we will march out of this Third Book with arhythmic word of Goethe's on our tongue; a word which perhaps hasalready sung itself, in dark hours and in bright, through many aheart. To me, finding it devout yet wholly credible and veritable, full of piety yet free of cant; to me joyfully finding much in it, andjoyfully missing so much in it, this little snatch of music, by thegreatest German man, sounds like a stanza in the grand _Road Song_and _Marching Song_ of our great Teutonic kindred, --wending, wending, valiant and victorious, through the undiscovered Deeps of Time!"]

One last word. _Wir heissen euch hoffen_--we bid you be of hope. Adieufor this time. 

THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR IN EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY. 

The following is a letter addressed by Mr. Carlyle to Dr. HutchisonStirling, late one of the candidates for the Chair of Moral Philosophyin the University of Edinburgh:--

 "Chelsea, 16th June, 1868. 

 "DEAR STIRLING, --

"You well know how reluctant I have been to interfere at all in theelection now close on us, and that in stating, as bound, what my ownclear knowledge of your qualities was, I have strictly held by that, and abstained from more. But the news I now have from Edinburgh is ofsuch a complexion, so dubious, and so surprising to me; and I now findI shall privately have so much regret in a certain event--whichseems to be reckoned possible, and to depend on one gentleman of theseven--that, to secure my own conscience in the matter, a few plainerwords seem needful. To whatever I have said of you already, therefore, I now volunteer to add, that I think you not only the one man inBritain capable of bringing Metaphysical Philosophy, in the ultimate, German or European, and highest actual form of it, distinctly home tothe understanding of British men who wish to understand it, but thatI notice in you farther, on the moral side, a sound strength ofintellectual discernment, a noble valour and reverence of mind, whichseems to me to mark you out as the man capable of doing us the highestservice in Ethical science too: that of restoring, or decisivelybeginning to restore, the doctrine of morals to what I must everreckon its one true and everlasting basis (namely, the divine orsupra-sensual one), and thus of victoriously reconciling and renderingidentical the latest dictates of modern science with the earliestdawnings of wisdom among the race of men. 

"This is truly my opinion, and how important to me, not for the sakeof Edinburgh University alone, but of the whole world for ages tocome, I need not say to you! I have not the honour of any personalacquaintance with Mr. Adam Black, late member for Edinburgh, but forfifty years back have known him, in the distance, and by current andcredible report, as a man of solid sense, independence, probity, andpublic spirit; and if, in your better knowledge of the circumstances, you judge it suitable to read this note to him--to him, or indeed toany other person--you are perfectly at liberty to do so. 

 "Yours sincerely always, "T. CARLYLE. "[Illustration]

FAREWELL LETTER TO THE STUDENTS. 

Mr. Carlyle, ex-Lord Rector of the University of Edinburgh, beingasked before the expiration of his term of office, to deliver avaledictory address to the students, he sent the following letter toMr. Robertson, Vice-President of the Committee for his election:--

 "Chelsea, December 6, 1868. 

"DEAR SIR, --

"I much regret that a valedictory speech from me, in presentcircumstances, is a thing I must not think of. Be pleased to advisethe young gentlemen who were so friendly towards me that I havealready sent them, in silence, but with emotions deep enough, perhapstoo deep, my loving farewell, and that ingratitude or want of regardis by no means among the causes that keep me absent. With a fineyouthful enthusiasm, beautiful to look upon, they bestowed on me thatbit of honour, loyally all they had; and it has now, for reasons oneand another, become touchingly memorable to me--touchingly, and evengrandly and tragically--never to be forgotten for the remainder ofmy life. Bid them, in my name, if they still love me, fight the goodfight, and quit themselves like men in the warfare to which they areas if conscript and consecrated, and which lies ahead. Tell them toconsult the eternal oracles (not yet inaudible, nor ever to become so, when worthily inquired of); and to disregard, nearly altogether, incomparison, the temporary noises, menacings, and deliriums. May theylove wisdom, as wisdom, if she is to yield her treasures, must beloved, piously, valiantly, humbly, beyond life itself, or the prizesof life, with all one's heart and all one's soul. In that case (I willsay again), and not in any other case, it shall be well with them. 

"Adieu, my young friends, a long adieu, yours with great sincerity, "T. CARLYLE"

BEQUEST BY MR. CARLYLE. 

At a meeting of the Senatus Academicus of Edinburgh University, a fewweeks after his decease, a deed of mortification by Thomas Carlylein favour of that body, for the foundation of ten Bursaries in theFaculty of Arts, was read. The document opens as follows:--

"I, Thomas Carlyle, residing at Chelsea, presently Rector in theUniversity of Edinburgh, from the love, favour and affection which Ibear to that University, and from my interest in the advancement ofeducation in my native Scotland, as elsewhere, for these and for othermore peculiar reasons, which also I wish to record, do intend, andam now in the act of making to the said University, a bequest, as underwritten, of the estate of Craigenputtoch, which is now myproperty. Craigenputtoch lies at the head of the parish of Dunscore, in Nithsdale, Dumfriesshire. The extent is of about 1, 800 acres;rental at present, on lease of nineteen years, is £250; the annualworth, with the improvements now in progress, is probably £300. Craigenputtoch was for many generations the patrimony of a familynamed Welsh, the eldest son usually a 'John Welsh, ' in series goingback, think some, to the famous John Welsh, son-in-law of the reformerKnox. The last male heir of the family was John Welsh, Esq. , surgeon, Haddington. His one child and heiress was my late dear, magnanimous, much-loving, and, to me, inestimable wife, in memory of whom, andof her constant nobleness and piety towards him and towards me, I amnow--she having been the last of her kindred--about to bequeath toEdinburgh University with whatever piety is in me this Craigenputtoch, which was theirs and hers, on the terms, and for the purposes, andunder the conditions underwritten. Therefore I do mortify anddispose to and in favour of the said University of Edinburgh, forthe foundation and endowment of ten equal Bursaries, to be calledthe 'John Welsh Bursaries, ' in the said University, heritably andirredeemably, all and whole the lands of Upper Craigenputtoch. Thesaid estate is not to be sold, but to be kept and administered asland, the net annual revenue of it to be divided into ten equalBursaries, to be called, as aforesaid, the 'John Welsh Bursaries. ' TheSenatus Academicus shall bestow them on the ten applicants enteringthe University who, on strict and thorough examination and opencompetitive trial by examiners whom the Senatus will appoint for thatend, are judged to show the best attainment of actual proficiency andthe best likelihood of more in the department or faculty called ofarts, as taught there. Examiners to be actual professors in saidfaculty, the fittest whom the Senatus can select, with fit assessorsor coadjutors and witnesses, if the Senatus see good, and always thereport of the said examiners to be minuted and signed, and to governthe appointments made, and to be recorded therewith. More specially Iappoint that five of the 'John Welsh Bursaries' shall be given for thebest proficiency in mathematics--I would rather say 'in mathesis, ' ifthat were a thing to be judged of from competition--but practicallyabove all in pure geometry, such being perennial, the symptom notonly of steady application, but of a clear, methodic intellect, and offering in all epochs good promise for all manner of arts andpursuits. The other five Bursaries I appoint to depend (for thepresent and indefinitely onwards) on proficiency in classicallearning, that is to say, in knowledge of Latin, Greek, and English, all of these, or any two of them. This also gives good promise of ayoung mind, but as I do not feel certain that it gives perennially orwill perennially be thought in universities to give the best promise, I am willing that the Senatus of the University, in case of a changeof its opinion on this point hereafter in the course of generations, shall bestow these latter five Bursaries on what it does then considerthe most excellent proficiency in matters classical, or the best proofof a classical mind, which directs its own highest effort towardsteaching and diffusing in the new generations that will come. TheBursaries to be open to free competition of all who come to study inEdinburgh University, and who have never been of any other University, the competition to be held on or directly before or after their firstmatriculation there. Bursaries to be always given on solemnly strictand faithful trial to the worthiest, or if (what in justice can neverhappen, though it illustrates my intention) the claims of twowere absolutely equal, and could not be settled by further trial, preference is to fall in favour of the more unrecommended andunfriended under penalties graver than I, or any highest mortal, canpretend to impose, but which I can never doubt--as the law of eternaljustice, inexorably valid, whether noticed or unnoticed, pervades allcorners of space and of time--are very sure to be punctually exactedif incurred. This is to be the perpetual rule for the Senatus indeciding. "

After stating some other conditions, the document thus concludes:

"And so may a little trace of help to the young heroic soul strugglingfor what is highest spring from this poor arrangement and bequest. May it run for ever, if it can, as a thread of pure water from theScottish rocks, trickling into its little basin by the thirsty waysidefor those to whom it veritably belongs. Amen. Such is my bequest toEdinburgh University. In witness whereof these presents, written uponthis and the two preceding pages by James Steven Burns, clerk to JohnCook, writer to the signet, are subscribed by me at Chelsea, the20th day of June, 1867, before these witnesses: John Forster, barrister-at-law, man of letters, etc. , residing at Palace-gate House, Kensington, London; and James Anthony Froude, man of letters, residingat No. 5, Onslow Gardens, Brompton, London. 

 "_(Signed)_ T. CARLYLE. 

 "JOHN FORSTER, } "J. A. FROUDE, } _Witnesses_. 

[Illustration]

INDEX. 

 Abelard, 134. Aitken, Mary, 117. Allingham, Mrs. , her sketch of Carlyle, 121. Annan, Academy, 9. Anspach's _History_ of Newfoundland, 13. Arnold, Thomas, visits the field of Naseby with Carlyle, 63, 64. 

 Baillie, Joanna, her Metrical Legends, 13. Bentley, Richard, the last of English scholars, 162. Black, Adam, 191. Boehm, Mr. , his medallion and statue of Carlyle, 116, 120, 121. Braidwood Testimonial, 85, 86. Brewster, Sir David, his Edinburgh Encyclopaedia, 10, 11; writes a Preface to Carlyle's Translation of Legendre, 13; presides at Carlyle's installation as Rector of Edinburgh University, 90, 93, 96. Buchanan, George, 47. Buller, Charles, Carlyle becomes tutor to, 15; his death, 74; Carlyle's tribute to, 75-80. Burns, Robert, 67. 

 Cameron, Mrs. , her photograph of Carlyle, 120. Carlyle, Jane Welsh, Goethe's verses to, 20; described by Margaret Fuller, 68, 69; death of, 109; funeral, 110; inscription on her tombstone, 111. Carlyle, Thomas, birth and parentage, 8; early studies, 9; school-mastering, 9-10; first attempts in literature, 10-14; Buller tutorship, 15; German translations, 15-17; his marriage, 17; life at Craigenputtoch, 17-18; removes to London, 25; his affection for Leigh Hunt, 26; letter to Major Richardson, 40; his Lectures, 45; advice to a young man, 54; defence of Mazzini, 59; visit to Rugby, 63; his letter to Sir William Napier, 81; the Edinburgh Rectorship and Address, 87-109; death of his wife, 109; on the Jamaica insurrection, 112; latest writings, 115; medal and address, 116; closing years of life, 117; his _Reminiscences_, 118; portraits of, 119. Carlyle, John A. , his Translation of Dante, 98; death of, 117. Chelsea, old memories of, 25; Carlyle fixes his residence there, 25, 26. Collins's Peerage, 152. Craigenputtoch, 17; description of by Carlyle, in a letter to Goethe, 18. Cromwell, Oliver, Letters and Speeches, 68; his Protectorate, 145 Cunningham, Allan, on old age, 44:

 Demosthenes, 166. De Quincey, Thomas, his critique on Wilhelm Meister, 16 D'Orsay, Count, his Portrait of Carlyle, 119. Dumfries, 18. 

 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, his visit to Carlyle at Craigenputtoch, 21; his Essays introduced to the English public by Carlyle, 52; Margaret Fuller's letter to him, 64. Eyre, Edward John, Carlyle's defence of, 112. 

 Ferguson's Roman History, 140. Fichte, 37. Forster, John, 200. Fraser's Magazine, 20, 22, 115, 119. Frederick the Great, History of, 81, 87. French Revolution, History of the, 38. Froude, James Anthony, 118, 200. Fuller, Margaret, her Letter to Emerson describing Carlyle's conversation, 65-73. 

 German Romance, 16. Gibbon, 23. Goethe, his _Faust_, 13; his _Wilhelm Meister_ translated by Carlyle, 15; Carlyle's letters to him, 18; writes an Introduction to the German translation of Carlyle's Life of Schiller, 20; his verses to Mrs. Carlyle, _ib_. ; Wilhelm Meister's Travels, 170-171; Verses by him, quoted, 186, 187. Grant, James, quoted, 46, 48-52. 

 Hannay, James, on Carlyle, 47. Heyne, his Tibullus and Virgil, 162-163. Hoffmann, Carlyle's translation from, 16. Horne, R. H. , quoted, 27, 28. Houghton, Lord, breakfast party at his house, 38. Hunt, Leigh, invited by Carlyle to visit him in Dumfriesshire. 26; settles at Chelsea, _ib_. ; characteristic anecdote, 27; leaves Chelsea, 28; Carlyle's eulogium on, 29; Carlyle's opinion of his Autobiography, 33; quoted, 35, 46. 

 Ireland, Carlyle's papers on, 74. Irving, Edward, 10, 40. 

 Jeffrey, Lord, his critique on Wilhelm Meister, 16; Carlyle's Reminiscences of, 119. Johnson, Samuel, advice as to reading, 55. 

 Kirkcaldy, 10. Knox, John, an ancestor of Carlyle's wife, 17, 196; grim humour of, 47; the portraits of, 115; belongs to the select of the earth, 142-143; his History of the Reformation, 184-185. 

 Lally, at Pondicherry, 84. La Motte Fouqué, Carlyle's Translations from, 16. Landor, Walter Savage, 23, 38. Latter-Day Pamphlets, 80. Laurence, Samuel, his portrait of Carlyle, 119. Legendre's Geometry, translated by Carlyle, 13, 14. Leslie, Sir John, 9. Lewes, George Henry, 66. London Magazine, The, 15, 16. Louis Philippe, 74. 

 Machiavelli on Democracy, 107, 146. Maclise, Daniel, 119. Mazzini, his articles on Carlyle, 58; Carlyle's defence of his character, 59; remonstrates vainly with Carlyle, 69. Milnes, R. M. , see _Houghton_, Lord. Mirabeau, 23. Moore, Thomas, meets Carlyle at a breakfast party, 38. Musæus, Carlyle's translations from, 17. 

 Napier, Sir William, his History of the Administration of Scinde 81; Carlyle's letter to him, 81-85. Necker, Carlyle's biography of him, quoted, 11. Nero, death of, 22. Newfoundland, Carlyle's account of, quoted, 12. 

 Ossoli, see _Fuller_. 

 _Past and Present_, 53; quoted, 187-188. _Paul et Virginie_, 44. Petrarch and _Laura_, 67. Phocion, 167. 

 Quincey, see _De Quincey_. 

 Richardson, David Lester, his _Literary Leaves_, 40; Carlyle's letter to him, 40-44. Richter, Jean Paul, 17. Robinson, Henry Crabb, 38, 39. Rous, Sir Francis, 148. Rousseau, at St. Pierre, 19; his Confessions, 23. Ruskin, John, his praise of Boehm's statue of Carlyle, 116, 121. Rugby School, 63, 64. 

 _Sartor Resartus_, 36, 37. Schiller, Friedrich, Carlyle's life of him, 15; Supplement to, 115. Shakespeare, 67. Smith, Alexander, his account of the delivery of Carlyle's Address at Edinburgh, 87-92. Socrates, disparaged by Carlyle, 23. Sophocles, the tragedies of, 141. Sterling, John, 37, 38; death of, 62; Carlyle's life of him, 81. Stirling, Dr. , Carlyle's letter to, 189-191. 

 Tennyson, why he wrote in verse, 67. Teufelsdröckh, 36, 68. Thackeray, W. M. , his verses on the death of Charles Buller, 15, 74-75. Tieck, 17. Turveydrop senior, on Polished Deportment, 49. 

 University of Edinburgh, 125. 

 Watts, G. F. , his portrait of Carlyle, 120. Welsh family, 17. Whistler, J. A. , his portrait of Carlyle, 120. 

 Youth, the golden season of life, 130. 

 Zoilus, 19. 

THE END.