ETTERS O mi m MAS CARL "Mill] EDITED BY CHARLES TOWNSEND Has i ill I III! In II 'ml THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES Cfjomas CarlpU CRITICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. With Portrait and Index. Riverside Edition. 4 vols. 121110, #7.50. Popular Edition. With Portrait. 2 vols. i2mo, $3- So- CORRESPONDENCE OF CARLYLE AND EM- ERSON, 1834-1872. Edited by Charles Emot Norton. Including newly found Let- ters and new Portraits. 2 vols, crown 8vo, $4.00. LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER. Edited by Charles T. Copeland. Crown 8vo, $1.50. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. Boston and New York. V LETTERS OF Cfjomas Carlple TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY CHARLES TOWNSEND COPELAND LECTURER ON ENGLISH LITERATURE IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY WITH PORTRAITS AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY (Cbe fltoer jibe per t4, Cambridge 1899 COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY ALL EIGHTS RESERVED f PREFACE The letters printed in this volume were mainly written by Thomas Carlyle to his youngest sister, Mrs. Robert Hanning, who died in Toronto on the thirteenth day of De- cember, 1897. Other members of the family are represented in the correspondence ; there are a few letters — these perhaps the most interesting — from Carlyle to his mother; a few, also, from the mother to her oldest and to her youngest child. The collection extends from 1832 to 1890, when Mr. John Carlyle Aitken wrote to inform his aunt, Mrs. Han- ning, of the death of James Carlyle, her youngest brother. The editor of these letters found it desir- able to make a careful study of all the pub- lished Carlyle documents. The introductory essay on Carlyle as a Letter- Writer grew out of a comparison between Carlyle's correspond- ence with his family, and his letters to other persons, already printed by Mr. Norton and Mr. Froude. 051355 CONTENTS PAGE Carlyle as a Letter-writer 1 Letters I. Carlyle to Janet Carlyle, Scotsbrig, January 23, 1832 , 43 II. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Manchester, May 16, 1836 54 ITT. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Manchester, July 8, 1836 61 IV. To Mrs. Hanning, Manchester, from her Mo- ther, November 3, 1836 63 V. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Manchester, January 19,1837 66 VI. To Mrs. Hanning, Manchester, from her Mo- ther, April 9 (1837) 75 VII. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Manchester, June 20, 1837 77 VLII. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Manchester, July 18, 1837 80 IX. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Manchester, August 28,1837 87 X. To Mrs. Hanning, Manchester, from her Mo- ther, January 11 (1838) 93 XI. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Kirtlebridge, Febru- ary 7, 1840 96 XH. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, August 1, 1840 102 XHI. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Kirtlebridge, Octo- ber 7, 1840 105 XIV. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Kirtlebridge, Janu- ary 15, 1841 109 XV. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig (February, 1841) 112 VI CONTENTS XVI. Carlyle to Mes. Hanning, Dumfries, No- vember 24, 1841 115 XVII. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, Jan- uary 8, 1842 118 XVIII. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, June 4, 1842 124 XIX. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, July 4, 1842 127 XX. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, The Gill, July 21, 1842 129 XXI. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, Septem- ber 7, 1842 132 XXII. To Carlyle from his Mother, September 13, 1842 146 XXIII. To Mrs. Hanning, The Gill, from her Mo- ther, Monday (1840-1851) 147 XXIV. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, Septem- ber 19, 1842 148 XXV. Carlyle to Mrs. Banning, The Gill, No- vember 2, 1842 150 XXVI. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig (early September, 1843) 154 XXVII. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, Septem- ber 12, 1843 156 XXVIII. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, Decem- ber 6, 1843 160 XXIX. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, March 10,1844 162 XXX. Carlyle to Mrs. James Austin, The Gill, April 30, 1844 169 XXXI. Carlyle to Dr. John Carlyle, Scotsbrig, August 5, 1844 172 XXXII. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, December 16, 1844 175 XXXIII. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, July 12, 1845 177 XXXIV. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, October 17, 1845 180 XXXV. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig, October 31,1845 182 CONTENTS vii XXXVI. Carlyle to his Mother, Scotsbrig (Novem- ber 1/15, 1845) 185 XXXVII. Carlyle to Mrs. Banning, Dumfries, June 29, 1846 187 XXXVIII. Carlyle to Mrs. Aitken, Dumfries, October 17, 1846 190 XXXIX. Carlyle to Mrs. Banning, Dumfries, Au- gust 18, 1849 192 XL. Mrs. Thomas Carlyle to Mrs. Banning, Dumfries (spring of 1851) 196 XLI. John Aitken Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Hamilton, C. W., June 27, 1851 198 XLII. Carlyle to Alexander Carlyle, Canada, October 24, 1851 201 XLIH. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Canada, April 22, 1853 206 XLIV. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Canada, Decem- ber 28, 1853 210 XLV. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Hamilton, C. W., April 8, 1855 217 XLVI. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Hamilton, C. W., January 7, 1859 220 XL VII. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Hamilton, C. W., April 30, 1860 223 XLVHI. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Hamilton, C. W., February 28, 1861 226 XLIX. Carlyle to Mrs. Banning, Hamilton, C. W., August 13, 1863 229 L. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Hamilton, C. W., May 4, 1865 232 LL Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Hamilton, C. W., February 14, 1868 236 LH. Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Hamilton, C. W., February 13, 1871 238 LHL Carlyle to Mrs. Banning, Bamilton, C. W., January 2, 1873 242 LIV. Miss Mary Aitken to Mrs. Banning, Bamil- ton, C. W., February 3, 1874 243 LV. Carlyle to Mrs. Banning, Bamilton, C. W., April 12, 1875 248 Vlll CONTENTS LVI. Carltle to Dr. John Carlyle, Dumfries, September 21, 1878 251 LVII. Mrs. Alexander Carlyle to Mrs. Han- king, Hamilton, C. W., July 18, 1880. . . 254 LVIH. Mr. John Carlyle Aitken to Mrs. Han- ning, Hamilton, C. W., February 11, 1881 . 256 LIX. Mrs. Alexander Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Hamilton, C. W., March 3, 18S1 259 LX. Mr. John Carlyle to Mrs. Hanning, Ham- ilton, C. W., May 11, 1S90 266 Index 271 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Thomas Carlyle Frontispiece. The Village of Ecclefechan. From a photograph . . 42 Carlyle in the Garden of No. 5 Cheyne Row. From a photograph in the possession of Carlyle's niece, Mrs. G. M. Franklin 99 Facsimile of a Letter to Mrs. Hanning. An addi- tional letter, not printed elsewhere in the book .... 152 Jane Welsh Carlyle. From an early photograph now in the possession of Mrs. Hanning's family 196 Carlyle's Mother. From a photograph of a painting . . 217 Thomas Carlyle. From a photograph, taken in his old age, by Elliott & Fry, London 237 Janet Carlyle Banning. From a photograph .... 255 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER Most persons (perhaps because consciously or unconsciously they hold the opinion of George Eliot, that serious subjects should not be discussed in letters) try to entertain their correspondents, when they sit down to write a friendly letter. Famous writers are no ex- ception to this rule. Horace Walpole adapts his materials with the nicest art ; Gray is sel- dom elegiac in prose; and Chesterfield, not content with urging his son to " sacrifice to the Graces," makes his own epistles an oblation on the altar of those ladies. It is evident that the younger Pliny chooses his best stylus, whether a Tuscan villa, or the eruption of Vesuvius, or a Corinthian statu- ette form his theme ; and the fact that all is composed in fear of Cicero and to the glory of the Latin language cannot have made the composition less acceptable to his contempo- raries. The letters of Charles Lamb, the " argument ' : of whose life was suited to a Greek tragedy, must often have carried sun- 2 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER shine — quaintly filtered through Lamb's per- sonality — to people who, had they but known it, were far better off than their correspond- ent. Cowper, the best of English letter- writers, was also one of the most cheerful, and in some of the last communications with his friends, before the darkness had quite settled over him, showed himself touchingly conscious of the social bond. It was nearly always dark with Cowper when he was ad- dressing the Reverend John Newton, the evil genius who tried to be his good genius ; but let it be remembered that Cowper wrote to Newton the escape of the hares, — a minia- ture Gilpin in prose. Most of what came from Olney and Weston, indeed, gave and repeated an impression of sprightly serenity that — except in the letters to Newton — sel- dom allowed itself to be clouded with the fear which so often kept Cowper trembling. When Madame de Sevigne smiles through her tears, her face turned always toward her daughter, we love her most. We do not feel that she is not making the best of things, but merely that the gayety of her century, thus dashed, is brought nearer the key of our own. Looked at from this point of view of good spirits, whether real or benevolently feigned, CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 8 Carlyle is in blackest contrast to the genial tradition of letter-writing. As early as when he was with the Bnllers at Kinnaird, he had frightened his family with an eloquent diag- nosis of the torments of dyspepsia, and after- ward often practiced a becoming caution in complaining too loudly of anything to them. Toward the world in general, however, and toward his brother John — who alone of the family lived in the world — he seldom ob- served such care. What he felt, he thought ; and what he thought, he wrote. The denun- ciatory mood was frequent with Carlyle, and it would be easy to collect enough of his secular anathemas for a droll sort of com- mination service. Men, women, and children, if they disturbed him, came in for his curse. All annoyances spoke to Carlyle and his wife through a megaphone, and were proclaimed by them through a still larger variety of the same instrument. Every cock that crowed near their house was a clarion out of tune, and the " demon - fowls ' were equaled by dogs, of which each had to their ears the barking power of Cerberus. When Carlyle traveled, fierce imprecations upon everything viatic were wafted back from every stage to the poor " Goody " in Cheyne Row, often 4 CABLYLE AS A LETTER- WE ITER while she was facing alone the problem of fresh paint and paper. On the only occasion I can now recall of Carlyle himself being at home during repairs, they were to him what a convulsion of nature would be to most of us, and his outcries were of cosmic vehemence and shrillness. In these wild splutterings of genius, a maid servant was a "puddle," a " scandalous randy," or even a " sluttish har- lot;' 1 a man servant was a "flunkey;" and, if he waked Carlyle too early in the morning, he was a " flunkey of the devil." Rank, wealth, and worldly respectability were, it need not at this day be said, no defense against these grotesque indictments. The clergy and lovers of the clergy — unless, indeed, they happened to be anaemic and " Socinian " — were always accused of " shov- el-hattedness." Persons who, from Plato to Scott, waged no visible warfare with their own souls, and lived their lives without stated conversion from " the everlasting No," were rarely acceptable to Carlyle. Any man of his acquaintance who, besides being thus at ease in Zion, had also gathered worldly gear, was apt, according to Carlyle, to have lost his humanity in " gigmanity." London, in the word he gladly borrowed from Cobbett, was CABLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 5 a "monstrous wen;" Europe, "a huge suppu- ration;' mankind, " mostly fools ; " and the world at large, " a dusty, fuliginous chaos." If, in moods which give forth such words, Carlyle seems to write with a quill plucked from the fretful porpentine, a new book of Lamentations might be gathered from his other frequent and familiar condition. This was the state of body and soul which moved him to sorrow and repining over himself, England, and the world. If he had never made his great success in literature, these wailing cries might plausibly be assigned to the disappointed ambitions of a man whose lot was even more embittered by dyspepsia. But in this respect the tone of the appren- tice, throughout a wearifully long apprentice- ship, was strangely like that of the past master in literature, who for the last twenty years of his life was the most eminent of English writers. There is doubtless a habit of mourn- ing as of rejoicing, and habit counted for much with Carlyle. Yet what I am disposed to contend is that though Aladdin's lamp had lighted him to a success even earlier than Sheridan's or Kipling's, his books and letters would still from time to time have sounded the whole gamut of Jeremiah. It 6 CABLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER was in his Scotch blood that thus they should, — in his Puritan spirit and his Puritanical digestion. In short, Carlyle's melancholy was from temperament far more than from circumstance, — a spiritual habitude to which he was destined and born. See the sparks fly upward in March, 1822 : " Art is long and life is short ; and of the threescore and ten years allotted to the liver, how small a portion is spent in anything but vanity and vice, if not in wretchedness, and worse than unprofitable struggling with the adamantine laws of fate ! I am wae when I think of all this, but it cannot be helped." More than forty years after, the sad-eyed victor in his chosen field reminds us that he, more than most men, is born to trouble. In 1865 he writes to Emerson from Annandale : " I live in total solitude, sauntering moodily in thin checkered woods, galloping about, once daily, by old lanes and roads, oftenest latterly on the wide expanses of Solway shore (when the tide is out!) where I see bright busy Cottages far off, houses over even in Cumberland, and the beautifulest amphithe- atre of eternal Hills, — but meet no living creature; and have endless thoughts as lov- ing and as sad and sombre as I like." This CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 1 is none the less (perhaps, rather, the more) sad, for all the wide and shining landscape. A few lines later Carlyle says : " You perceive me sufficiently at this point of my Pilgrimage, as withdrawn to Hades for the time being ; intending a month's walk there, till the muddy semi - solutions settle into sediment according to what laws they have, and there be perhaps a partial restoration of clearness." The voice of 1865, though early in the in- terim it gained its individual accent, is still the voice of 1822. Malice was operant in this choice of a pas- sage from one of Carlyle's letters to Emerson, to show the frequent hue of his spirit. For not only is the mere thought of Emerson a cause of cheer to most men, — to Carlyle him- self it usually brought comfort, — but Carlyle had adopted Emerson, or more nearly adopted him than any one else except Sterling, into the close communion of his own family, to- ward whom he generally showed compunction in the matter of invective and lament. Yet in writing to Emerson and to them he would sometimes forget his restraint, and, while eat- ing his heart, would invite them to the same repast. It has been said that Froude made an exceptionally gloomy selection from Car- 8 CABLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER lyle's correspondence, and that Mr. Norton's volumes give a fairer view of the habitual tone of his spirits. So far as they are con- cerned with Emerson and with Carlyle's kin- dred, an explanation of the higher average of cheerfulness has already been offered. But even in these letters, and still more in the rest of Mr. Norton's selections, one is tempted to inquire whether he did not intend (and very properly) to redress the balance which Froude had unduly weighted on the other side. For the essence and gist of Carlyle's published writings — books, letters, and jour- nals — is that " it is not a merry place, this world ; it is a stern and awful place." Much that is meat to other men was poison, or tinc- tured with poison, to him. " My letter, you will see" (he wrote to his brother John in 1828), " ends in sable, like the life of man. My own thoughts grow graver every day I live." He could, and did, suck melancholy from his own successful lectures, from his own books and the books of others, from the state of the nation and the state of his own health, from society, from solitude. Craig- enputtock, high on the moors between Dum- friesshire and Galloway, and sixteen miles from the town of Dumfries, has always seemed CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 9 to me the right scenic background for Car- lyle. The stone farmhouse, surrounded by a few acres of land reclaimed from peat bog, stands in the midst of bleak hills, seven hun- dred feet above the level of the sea. This is the right scenery for Carlyle, and many of his most characteristic letters, from whatever places written, carry with them a feeling of the north, November, and the moors. Had Froude left any gaps in his biography, they might be bridged with sighs. Persons who talked with Carlyle, or who heard him talk, often received a different im- pression. This was, no doubt, partly because his pentecostal gift excited him to a variety and fire of speech for which he afterward paid the penalty of a natural enough reac- tion ; partly, also, because the sense of humor never deserted him at those moments, and rich gusts of laughter swept away boding prophecy, fierce invective, and the whole sym- bolic apparatus of Carlylean denunciation. Humor, indeed, is always to be reckoned with in Carlyle ; and his letters, like his books, abound in a range of it — seldom genial — that extends from the grim to the farcical. But you cannot hear a man laugh in print ; and where in a Carlyle conversation the stage 10 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER direction would be, " Exit laughing," in a Carlyle letter it appears, " Exit groaning " or " Exit swearing." The writer " laughs off," as Macbeth and Macduff "fight off;" and the reader hears but the ghost of a laugh, — a faint, imagined reverberation. Hence, loathed Melancholy, and a truce to sable. I have, perhaps, made too much of a striking characteristic, however indubitable, of a great writer. The famous rat was not always gnawing at the pit of his stomach ; and when neither the mood of vituperation nor the mood of lament was upon him, he was of too vigorous and too honest a mind not to discuss with comparative calmness many subjects that interested him. What did interest him and what didn't, what ap- pears in his letters and what is never seen there, would make a catalogue fairly descrip- tive of Carlyle's intellectual and moral consti- tution. Food and raiment he seldom writes of, save as necessities of life. No Christmas gastronomy in his letters, no rule for " cook- ing a chub," no incipient essay on roast pig. As Carlyle's pen is never occupied with cards, one concludes that " old women to play whist with of an evening," so much desired by a certain delightful letter-writer, were not a de- CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 11 sideratum with him. Women, in fact, play no dominantly feminine part in his life. Love, as a passion, he apparently does not understand. He gave no more sensitive re- sponse to the fine arts than Emerson, in whose books there are many " blind places," — so says Mr. Chapman in his original and im- portant essay on Emerson, — " like the notes which will not strike on a sick piano." To name the theatre is, with Carlyle, to scorn it. Goethe himself could not make him care for plays or play-acting. Goethe's Wilhelm Meister he learned to admire, although, had any other written it, the book would have had from him the treatment it got from Wordsworth. If we may believe Froude, Carlyle called some of the most noteworthy French novels " a new Phallus worship, with Sue, Balzac, and Co. for prophets, and Ma- dame Sand for a virgin." Poetry, art allied to his own, interests Carlyle only through its thought or its lesson. In the actual affairs of life, he desires neither money, rank, nor political power. He gives no adherence to any religious creed, political faith, or party leader. He often feels himself in a " minor- ity of one," but on a certain occasion doubles the number, to include Emerson. 12 CAELYLE AS A LETTER- WHITER Here may end, without special reason for ending, the catalogue of negatives by which people learn to know Carlyle in his letters. Shorter, not less impressive or informing, is the list of positives. Words Carlyle must have had at least a sneaking fondness for. He does not admit it, but he uses words and phrases in a way that tells its own story to those upon whose ears his noblest strains fall like music. Very often, as he intended, the words stand for facts, which he loved, and for which he was proud to tell his love. Pu- rity, honor, and truth are dear to Carlyle, and he celebrates them in his letters. "Poor and sad humanity," although it often moves him to scorn, never quite loses its hold upon him : his letters are a crowded thoroughfare of human beings, who live again at his touch. Good sayings — pious, shrewd, sage, or hu- morous, as the case may be — this eloquent talker rolls under his tongue, especially when they are in the speech of the Scottish peo- ple. His taste for humor is catholic enough to relish jokes; and he himself, unclan- nish chiefly in that, jokes without difficulty. Strength of any kind bulks so large in Car- lyle's esteem that the historian of Cromwell and Friedrich has often been accused of mak- CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 13 ing might his right. After years of what he felt to be misrepresentation, he endeavored to set things straight by declaring that right, in the long run, was pretty sure to be mighty. However this may be, the strength of contem- porary leaders was likely, by his thinking, to be founded on unrighteousness ; and it was easier for him to worship his heroes through the long nave of the past. There was an altar for Cromwell, but — alas that it should have been so — there was none for Lincoln. Although these positives are lengthening themselves out, there must be mention here of the mother, wife, family, and friends, who figure so engrossingly in Carlyle's correspond- ence. I think we gather from the grand total of documents in the case that he loved his mother more deeply and singly than he loved any other person. Yet for his wife he had a strong, often disquieted affection. The expression of this in his letters to her, which are as remarkable for emotion as for a very high order of writing, is of course less checkered than it could have been in the faring together of two such yoke-fel- lows. In the action of temperament upon tem- perament, like does not cure like. During the long episode of Gloriana, it is often pos- 14 CAELYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER sible to read between the lines of Carlyle's letters to his wife. After the death of the first Lady Ashburton, however, occurs the most striking passage of self-accusation to be found in any letter before the death of Mrs. Carlyle. Carlyle writes to her on the 11th of July, 1858 : — " All yesterday I remarked, in speaking to , if any tragic topic came in sight, I had a difficulty to keep from breaking down in my speech, and becoming inarticulate with emotion over it. It is as if the scales were falling from my eyes, and I were beginning to see in this, my solitude, things that touch me to the very quick. Oh, my little woman ! what a suffering thou hast had, and how no- bly borne ! with a simplicity, a silence, cour- age, and patient heroism which are only now too evident to me. Three waer days I can hardly remember in my life ; but they were not without worth either ; very blessed some of the feelings, though many so sore and mis- erable. It is very good to be left alone with the truth sometimes, to hear with all its stern- ness what it will say to one." It is often to be noted that no great mo- ment finds Carlyle without a great word. Moving as is the utterance just quoted, it is CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 15 dumb in comparison with this, written after the death of Mrs. Carlyle : " Not for above two days could I estimate the immeasurable depths of it, or the infinite sorrow which had peeled my life all bare, and in a moment shat- tered my poor world to universal ruin." Mother, wife, family, and one or two friends, then, were very dear to Carlyle. " Love me a little," he writes once to Emer- son. Next to these few persons, nature had perhaps the strongest sway over him ; and the strange, beautiful landscapes that shine out from some of his darkest letters would be enough to found a reputation on. The phrases live in one's memory as if they had line and color. Two main facts detach themselves, I think, from these imperfect suggestions of what Carlyle's letters contain and what they are vacant of. In the first place, no one can doubt that although — except in writing to the Annandale kin — Carlyle seldom attempts to control himself, is seldom interesting or entertaining of set purpose, he is yet, for interest and entertainment, a letter - writer among a thousand. Single-minded and single- hearted, true as the very truth, in the words of his mouth he utters the meditations of 16 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER his heart. Gifted with eloquence, with hu- mor, with pathos, with eyes that see every- thing and a memory that loses nothing, with an energy of speech which (compared with that given to the majority of his fellow crea- tures) is clearly superhuman, Carlyle uses his amazing literary vehicle as an Arabian magic carpet to transport him to his correspondent. The letter is the writer ; the word is the man. So much for one fact. The other, not now stated for the first time, is that Carlyle, in his familiar letters as in his published works, presents the curious combination of mystic and realist. The world that can be tested by the senses is, in Carlyle's belief, only the vesture, sometimes muddy, sometimes clear, of the divine principle. For many readers, the expression of this ruling idea of Carlyle and his work is confused not only by apparently contradictory phrasings, but by the shifting of his conception of God between theism and pantheism. When, however, Car- lyle utters himself most earnestly and most characteristically on this cardinal point of his belief, no manner of man can misunderstand him. " Matter," exclaims he, " exists only spiritually, and to represent some idea and CABLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 17 body it forth. Heaven and Earth are but the time-vesture of the Eternal. The Uni- verse is but one vast symbol of God ; nay, if thou wilt have it, what is man himself but a symbol of God ? Is not all that he does sym- bolical, a revelation to sense of the mystic God-given force that is in him ? — a gospel of Freedom, which he, the ' Messias of Na- ture,' preaches as he can by act and word." It was only to be expected that the favorite quotation of a man whose high belief can be stated thus, of a man who regarded time as an illusion, should be the lines from Shake- speare's Tempest : — " We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep." Now, although it is proverbially difficult to prove a negative, the ease with which a nega- tive can be stated should be equally matter of proverb. Accordingly, we find that Car- lyle, in his letters, a hundred times denounces the world as he sees it for once that he de- scribes, or even suggests, the world as he would see it. Silent heroes should be the rulers of England. Silent heroes are rare birds, even among the dead. Instead of them, talking parliamentarians are at the 18 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER head of things ; and Carlyle has to say what he thinks of Gladstone and Disraeli, the alter- nately ruling talkers. When, in 1874, Dis- raeli proposed to grant him a pension and bestow on him also the Grand Cross of the Bath, he wrote to John Carlyle : " I do, how- ever, truly admire the magnanimity of Dizzy in regard to me. He is the only man I almost never spoke of except with contempt." Men of letters fare no better than men of action. They should be priests, in white, un- spotted robes. What does Carlyle find them? In 1824, after pinning Coleridge, De Quin- cey, Hazlitt, and Leigh Hunt fiercely to the page, he writes to Miss Welsh: "'Good heavens ! ' I often inwardly exclaim, ' and is this the literary world?' This rascal rout, this dirty rabble, destitute not only of high feeling and knowledge or intellect, but even of common honesty ! The very best of them are ill-natured weaklings. They are not red- blooded men at all. . . . Such is the literary world of London ; indisputably the poorest part of its population at present." So Car- lyle wrote of writers when he was putting on his literary armor, and not very differently when he was putting it off. His Hero as Man of Letters was almost invariably seen at CABLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 19 a distance, either of time or space. He spitted Coleridge on his sharpest spear, and two blasting, withering descriptions of Charles Lamb — with forty years between them for reflection — remain to the everlasting hurt of Carlyle's own reputation. Vitriol blesseth neither him that gives nor him that takes, yet Carlyle stayed to the end of his many days essentially high-minded. Honorable, simple, helpful, charitable in deed though not in word, he was seen at the limit of his course to have a better heart, a charac- ter less deteriorated, than many a man — no less good at the start — who has indulged himself with " omitting the negative proposi- tion." The habit of scorn would in the long run have been more harmful to character than the habit of tolerance and facile praise, ex- cept that Carlyle had an extraordinarily high standard of principle and performance, and held to it not only in his judgment of others, but also in what he exacted of himself. The fact that Carlyle never tried to reconcile the inconsistency (as it may have seemed to some persons) between the Deity of his worship and the symbolic manifestations of that Deity in a world so little to Carlyle's liking no doubt helped him to keep his spiritual integrity. 20 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER In company and contrast with the mysticism of Carlyle's thought — " idealism " is the bet- ter word, if it be strictly interpreted — is the eager realism of his literary methods. As a result of this piquant union, Carlyle means one thing to one man, and another, quite dif- ferent thing to another man. The Carlyle of X, the strait idealist, is a moonish philoso- pher, to be shunned by A, the strait realist, who rejoices in the closely packed narrative, the wild action, and the portraits of men and women, that make but a trivial appeal to X. This union of natures is plain enough in Shakespeare, in whom nothing surprises. The hand which gave us the Tempest gave us also Juliet's nurse and Hotspur's description of " a certain Lord." Too often, however, the idealist's grasp of the concrete is wavering and intermittent; too often the soul of the realist needs little feeding. Carlyle vibrated between these two ele- ments of his nature, and fortified one with the other. When, after burrowing in the dust-heap of the past or fishing into " the general Mother of Dead Dogs," he had brought to light some pearl (or, it might be, only some oyster-shell) of fact, he often im- proved the opportunity to show the larger CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 21 significance of the little gleam or glint of reality. It was the defect of a fine quality that, in his later work, and especially in Fred- erick, he spent himself on irrelevant facts which helped to make Carlyle's longest book a splendid failure, with episodes of indubita- ble success. The looser form of the letter more properly admits the isolated concrete. Shrewd, wel- come bits of fact are everywhere in Carlyle's letters; everywhere, too, are those other ex- pressions of a great realist, — vividly " com- posed " elements of landscape, and portraits that give every token of life except breath. As with every artist, whatever he depicts takes color from him, and is seen through his temperament. In the summer of 1837 Car- lyle writes to Sterling from Scotsbrig : " One night, late, I rode through the village where I was born. The old kirkyard tree, a huge old gnarled ash, was nestling itself softly against the great twilight in the north. A star or two looked out, and the old graves were all there, and my father and my sister ; and God was above us all." Here be worn, familiar things. Gray has been to the village churchyard at the hour of parting day, and a procession has followed in his footsteps. But 22 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER this kirkyard, where Carlyle has since laid himself down with his kindred, is Carlyle's. The reappearance (usually heightened or elaborated) of bits of prospect or topography first recorded in Carlyle's letters is an inter- esting characteristic of his writing. His first visit to Paris was of much service to him in fixing the places and scenes of The French Revolution ; the trip into the country of Cromwell's birth and the examination of Naseby field come into sight again in the book, — witness especially the "Cease your fooling," and the troopers' teeth that bit into Carlyle's memory ; and a number of rough drafts for details of Frederick appear in let- ters from the Continent. A brief note, dur- ing a visit to Mr. Redwood in 1843, of the Glamorganshire " green network of intricate lanes, mouldering ruins, vigorous vegetation good and bad," was afterward dilated (in the Life of Sterling) into the spacious and beautiful landscape beginning : " Llanblethian hangs pleasantly, with its white cottages, and orchard and other trees, on the western slope of a green hill ; looking far and wide over green meadows and little or bigger hills, in the pleasant plain of Glamorgan." Distinguished as are Carlyle's portraits of CABLYLE AS A LETTEB-WBITER 23 places, it is probably his portraits of persons that abide longest and most completely in the memories of most readers. Robespierre, Mirabeau and Mirabeau pere, Frederick and Frederick William, — it is one sign of Car- lyle's power that he can make subordinate characters salient and still bring out his hero, — Voltaire, Cromwell, and the Abbot Sam- son, are a few of the pictures that line his galleries. Wonderful as are these render- ings of men he never saw, his sketches of men he had known are almost literally " speaking likenesses." Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, Dickens, Thackeray, Tennyson, Mazzini, Louis Napo- leon, are among the many who are painted to a miracle in Carlyle's letters. Behold a great American, in a letter to Emerson : — " Not many days ago I saw at breakfast the notablest of all your Notabilities, Daniel Webster. He is a magnificent specimen; you might say to all the world, This is your Yankee Englishman, such Limbs we make in Yankee-land ! As a Logic-fencer, Advocate, or Parliamentary Hercules, one would incline to back him at first sight against all the extant world. The tanned complexion, that amorphous craglike face ; the dull black eyes under their precipice of brows, like dull an- 24 CAELYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER thracite furnaces, needing only to be blown ; the mastiff - mouth, accurately closed : — I have not traced as much of silent Berserker- rage, that I remember of, in any other man. * I guess I should not like to be your nigger ! ' At the risk of numbering this paper with the books of Chrysippus, we must look again at the portrait of De Quincey, which is, per- haps, the artist's chief triumph. Although it is to be found in the Reminiscences, it yet belongs here well enough, for that book is not so much a book as a long, rambling let- ter, partly of remorse, partly of pity, from Carlyle to himself. " He was a pretty little creature," says this terrible, sad old man, re- membering after forty years, " full of wire- drawn ingenuities ; bankrupt enthusiasms, bankrupt pride ; with the finest silver-toned low voice, and most elaborate gently-winding courtesies and ingenuities of conversation : i What would n't one give to have him in a Box, and take him out to talk ! ' (That was Her criticism of him ; and it was right good.) A bright, ready and melodious talker; but in the end an inconclusive and long-winded. One of the smallest man-figures I ever saw ; shaped like a pair of tongs ; and hardly above five feet in all : when he sat, you would have CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 25 taken him, by candle-light, for the beauti- f ullest little Child ; blue-eyed, blonde-haired, sparkling face, — had there not been a some- thing too, which said, ' Eccovi, this Child has been in Hell ! ' One would be sure, without other evidence than " Her criticism " in this description, which is also a " character," — to use the old word, — that She, too, had been terrible. The broken order, the curious punc- tuation, the capitals and italics, the leave of absence granted to the verb, the quick inter- jections, all taken together make the passage a concentrated example of Carlyle's vox hu- mana style, — of his writing when it is most like speech, sublimated. In his use of persons, as of places, there are pregnant comparisons to be made between Carlyle's first study and the final portrait. Sterling and old Sterling are cases in point ; Coleridge, maybe, the best instance of all. The main lines and the personal atmosphere, always visible, I think, in the sketch, are reproduced by Carlyle in the finished work. But in the heightening of lights, in the deep- ening of shade, in composition, above all, he makes many changes, which almost invariably result in greater intensity of effect. From such comparisons, if patiently con- 26 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER ducted, might come luminous comment on the question of Carlyle's style, — a question more vexed than the Bermoothes. So far and so much for Carlyle's general aspect as a letter-writer. I have tried to show that, in addressing himself to a very few friends, and especially to his own family, he displays a different set of qualities. The dif- ference between his vehemence toward the world at large and his gentleness toward his mother sometimes seems as marked as that between the two visions of the prophet Jere- miah : the one a seething caldron, the face thereof from the north ; the other, a rod of an almond tree. The world, in truth, for this peasant of genius, was, to the considerable degree in which he remained a peasant, an assemblage of persons and things to be ap- proached with many reserves and a deal of more or less violent disapproval. Annandale, contrariwise, was an honest, strength-giving corner of the world, which did for him through life the office of the earth to An- taeus. He went back to it so often that he never lost his native accent, and, in certain respects, the point of view to which he was born. So long as Carlyle's mother lived, there was rarely a year in which he did not CABLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 27 make a pilgrimage to Scotsbrig; and, after she died, he went oftener to her grave than most sons, dwelling at a distance from their mothers, visit them in life. Scotsbrig also came to him in the shape of letters, as well as in the unsentimental (though, rightly be- held, not unpathetic) guise of oatmeal, bacon, clothes, and what not. The Carlyles held that good meal could not be bought in Lon- don ; and when the barrel wasted, it was filled again from home. One far-brought fowl we all remember as the epic subject of a letter from Mrs. Carlyle in Chelsea to her sister- in-law in Scotland. Carlyle had his clothes made in Annan, partly from thrift, partly from distrust of London tailors. However much he depended on the people and the kindly fruits of his native soil, how- ever much the exclusiveness of the Carlyles may have been only that common to all Scotch peasant families, it is still hard to credit, though on the excellent authority of Mrs. Oliphant, that their mutual love was not " by ordinar," even among Scotch peas- ants. Especially is it difficult of credence that the attachment of Carlyle and his mother was not as rare as it was beautiful. In 1832, after the death of his father, he writes to his 28 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER brother Alick, at Scotsbrig : " let us all be gentle, obedient, loving to our Mother, now that she is left wholly to our charge ! ' Hon- our thy Father and thy Mother ' : doubly honour thy Mother when she alone remains." For twenty years this double honor was more than trebly paid. The son writes once to his mother : " Since I wrote last I have been in Scotsbrig more than in London." And so it often is to the end, — and after. Dream- ing and waking, he looks far up across Eng- land and the Sol way. In the spring the plow and the sower pass between his eyes and the page of Cromwell or The French Revolution ; in the autumn he has a vision of the yel- low fields, of " Jamie's " peat-stack, and the " cauldron " singing under his mother's win- dow. The mother's trembling thought of her children answers their love for her. " She told me the other day " (writes one of Car- lyle's sisters), " the first gaet she gaed every morning was to London, then to Italy, then to Craigenputtock, and then to Mary's, and finally began to think them at hame were, maybe, no safer than the rest. When I asked her what she wished me to say to you, she said she had a thousand things to say if she had you here ; ' and thou may tell them, I 'm very little fra' them.' " CABLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 29 As from his first clear earnings Carlyle sent his father a pair of spectacles, and his mother " a little sovereign to keep the fiend out of her hussif," so throughout he never forgot her in the least or the greatest particular. From year to year he sent her money and to- bacco, — which they often smoked together in the farmhouse, — books and comforts and letters. The letters, of course, were far the best of all to her. Often as they came, they could not come often enough. In 1824 Mar- garet Carlyle wrote to her son : " Pray do not let me want food ; as your father says, I look as if I would eat your letters. Write everything and soon." Everything and soon it always was ; and in these many letters Car- lyle strove to bring near to the untraveled ones at home all that he was seeing and doing. One means of doing this was to de- scribe interesting places in terms of Annan- dale. Thus, in telling his sister Jean about Naseby, he wrote : — " Next day they drove me over some fif- teen miles off to see the field of Naseby fight — Oliver Cromwell's chief battle, or one of his chief. It was a grand scene for me — Naseby, a venerable hamlet, larger than Mid- dlebie, all built of mud, but trim with high 30 CAELYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER peaked roofs, and two feet thick of smooth thatch on them, and plenty of trees scattered round and among. It is built as on the brow of the Hagheads at Ecclefechan ; Cromwell lay with his back to that, and King Charles was drawn up as at Wull Welsh's — only the Sinclair burn must be mostly dried, and the hollow much wider and deeper." Carlyle knew that his mother would be eager to hear of Luther and Lutherland. In September of the last year but one of her life, he writes to her from Weimar that " Eisenach is about as big as Dumfries ; ' that a hill near by is " somewhat as Lock- erbie hill is in height and position." The donjon tower of the Wartburg (which he translates for her, Watch Castle) stands like the old Tower of Repentance on Hoddam Hill, where his mother had visited him during his " russet-coated idyll " there, many years before. " They open a door, you enter a little apartment, less than your best room at Scotsbrig, I almost think less than your smallest, a very poor low room with an old leaded lattice window ; to me the most ven- erable of all rooms I ever entered." That afternoon they drive to Gotha in a " kind of clatch." Carlyle helps out his English for CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 31 his mother with bits of their common Doric, and falls unconsciously into Scotch locutions, such as " you would be going," or " you would be doing," when he means " you are likely to go " or " likely to do." In larger matters it is the same. Carlyle may have been chanting: the Miserere to some corre- spondent, but if he writes to his mother on the same day, the note changes to Sursum corda, even though it must visibly struggle up from the depths. Nor do the Immensities and the Eternities appear in his letters to her. In these the Lord her God is also his God. The belief in personal immortality came to Carlyle, so far as I can discover, but dimly and infrequently. This chill lack of faith, so common in our day, sharpened the dread of his mother's death. So early as 1844 he writes in his Journal : " My dear old mother has, I doubt, been often poorly this winter. They report her well at present : but, alas ! there is nothing in all the earth so stern to me as that constantly advancing inevitability, which indeed has terrified me all my days." Yet, in Carlyle's letters after her death, a dovelike peace seems to brood over his deep sorrow. With Roman piety he records the death-trance, sixteen hours long, in which his 32 CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER mother, her face " as that of a statue," lay waiting- for the end. It was another " Dulcis et alta quies, placidseque simillima morti;" and all Carlyle's words about that holy part- ing are grave and sweet. Whatever of loveliness there may have been in the life together of Carlyle and his wife, — and there was much, in spite of all that has been said to the contrary, — in death they were far divided. She lies with her gentle forbears in the abbey kirk at Hadding- ton ; he, in Ecclefechan kirkyard with his peasant forbears. When Carlyle was dying, the Lord remembered for him the kindness of his youth, — his mother might have be- lieved, — and " his mind seemed to turn alto- gether to the old Ecclefechan days." Said his niece, Mrs. Alexander Carlyle, writing just after his death : " He often took Alick for his father (uncle Sandy), and he would put his arms round my neck and say to me, ' My dear mother.' " Great writer as Carlyle is, many critics feel that he can never become classical. The word " classic," as Sainte-Beuve has pointed out, is a stretchable term ; but very possibly the Soudanese lexicographer, descended from CARLYLE AS A LETTER-WRITER 33 a native o£ New Zealand, will label many of Carlyle's phrases " post-classical," and place him with Browning and Ruskin, who felt his influence, in the Silver Age of English. Cer- tainly, the Soudanese Quintilian will do well to tell his pupils the story of Erasmus's ape, and warn them against the danger of imitat- ing Carlyle. Classical or post-classical, Car- lyle's name is as closely linked with the French Revolution and the Life of Oliver Cromwell, as is the name of Thucydides with the Peloponnesian War, that of Tacitus with the Emperors of the Julian line, or that of Gibbon with the Decline and Fall of their Empire. Yet even if Carlyle's historical titles were torn from his grant of immortality, he would survive as one of the most remarkable of English letter-writers. LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER LETTERS Mrs. Hanning (Janet Carlyle) was born, as were all her brothers and sisters before her, in the village of Ecclefechan. The following notes of her life are supplied by her son-in-law, the Rev. George M. Franklin : — " She was reckoned the neatest seamstress of the family, and received the rare compli- ment of praise from her eldest brother (Thomas Carlyle) for having done excellent work on some shirts. Robert Hanning, an old friend of the Carlyles, going to the same school with Janet, and ' looking on the same book,' wooed and won her. They were married at Scots- brig, on March 15, 1836. They went to Manchester, England, to live, as Mr. Hanning was employed by a Mr. Craig, and subse- quently was a partner in the business. This business having proved unprofitable, they re- turned to Scotland, and Mr. Hanning entered 38 LETTERS OF CARLYLE into business with his brother Peter as part- ner. This proved also a failure. Soon after- ward the family went back to Dumfries. Mr. Hanning sailed for America, arriving at New York ; and after working there for a time left that city for Hamilton, Ontario, his fu- ture home. Mrs. Hanning and her two chil- dren remained in Dumfries, although she had wished much to go with her husband and share his fortunes. Thomas persuaded her, i against her judgment,' as she has said, to wait until her husband was settled. Mr. Hanning was a man of strong convictions and the highest moral principle. The reunion of his family was effected in 1851, when the wife and two daughters left Glasgow in a sailing-vessel, the passage to Quebec occu- pying about seven weeks. Then taking a steamer from Quebec, they reached Hamilton in good time. This was before the building of the Great Western Railway. Mrs. Han- ning soon made a home for her devoted hus- band, earning the commendation ' brave little sister.' Mr. Hanning entered the service of the Great Western Railway of Canada in 1853, and remained with that company until his death, which occurred March 12, 1878." An indispensable guide to the correspond- THE CARLYLE FAMILY 39 ence will be found in the following list, given by Professor Norton, of the children of James Carlyle, with the dates of their births, — Thomas, born December 4, 1795 (died at Chelsea, February 5, 1881) ; Alexander, born August 4, 1797 ; Janet, born September 2, 1799 ; John Aitkin, born July 7, 1801 ; Mar- garet, born September 20, 1803 ; James, born November 12, 1805 ; Mary, born February 2, 1808 ; Jean, born September 2, 1810 ; Janet (Mrs. Hanning), born July 18, 1813. Among the persons mentioned by Mr. Franklin as visiting Mrs. Hanning, the most distinguished was Emerson, who went to Ham- ilton in the summer of 1865. " Mr. Emerson placed her in a chair near the window, so that he might the more readily examine her features, and, looking into her eyes, ex- claimed, l And so this is Carlyle' s little sister ! ' " Mention of " the youngest stay of the house, little Jenny," is rare and slight in the published letters and memorials of Carlyle. Froude, in an ingeniously careless passage, confuses her with an older sister, Jean. He speaks of " the youngest child of all, Jane, called the Craw, or Crow, from her black hair." Carlyle, on pages 92 and 93 of the 40 LETTERS OF CARLYLE second volume of the Reminiscences, — in Mr. Norton's edition, — mentions both Jean and Jenny : " There was a younger and youngest sister (Jenny), who is now in Can- ada ; of far inferior ' speculative intellect ' to Jean, but who has proved to have (we used to think) superior housekeeping faculties to hers." " My prayers and affection are with you all, from little Jenny upwards to the head of the house," writes Carlyle to his mother on October 19, 1826, after a form common enough, with its variations, in his early let- ters. Occasionally she has done something to be noted. On October 20, 1827 : " Does Jenny bring home her medals yet ? ' On November 15 : " Does Jenny still keep her medals ? Tell her that I still love her, and hope to find her a good lassie and to do her good." In the spuing of 1828 Carlyle writes from Scotsbrig to his " Dear Little Craw ' ; in Edinburgh : " Mag and Jenny are here ; Jenny at the Sewing-school with Jessie Combe, and making great progress." Mrs. Carlyle adds, in a postscript to an 1835 letter to Mrs. Aitken : " Carlyle has the impudence to say he forgot to send his compliments to Jenny ; as if it were possible for any one acquainted JENNY CARLYLE 41 with that morsel of perfections to forget her ! Tell her I will write a letter with my own hand, and hope to see her ' an ornament to society in every direction.' In a preface — written many years after — to a letter to Jean Carlyle, bearing date November, 1825, and signed Jane Baillie Welsh, Carlyle explains : " This Jean Carlyle is my second youngest sister, then a little child of twelve. The youngest sister, youngest of us all, was Jenny [Janet], now Mrs. Robert Hanning, in Ham- ilton, Canada West. These little beings, in their bits of grey speckled [black and white] straw bonnets, I recollect as a pair of neat, brisk items, tripping about among us that summer at the Hill." Letter and preface are given by Froude, as is also a letter from Car- lyle to his wife, dated Scotsbrig, May 3, 1842, and ending thus : " Yesterday I got my hair cropped, partly by my own endeavours in the front, chiefly by sister Jenny's in the rear. I fear you will think it rather an original cut." In 1827 : " Tell her that I still love her, and hope to find her a good lassie and to do her good ; ' in 1873, in Carlyle's last letter to Mrs. Hanning written with his own hand : " I please myself with the thought that you 42 LETTERS OF CARLYLE will accept this little New Year's Gift from me as a sign of my unalterable affection, wh h , tho' it is obliged to be silent (unable to write as of old), cannot fade away until I myself do ! Of that be always sure, my dear little Sister ; and that if in anything I can be of help to you or yours, I right willingly will." All the letters that follow are strung on a slender thread of biography. Even readers who know their Carlyle thoroughly may like to see, from year to year and from page to page, the contrast between his life in the world and his life with the peasant kindred who were so far from everything that men call the world. And although nothing in these letters will add to our knowledge of Carlyle, they cannot — taken together — fail to touch us freshly with the sense of what he was to his people, and what they were to him. Carlyle's life until 1832, the year of the first letter, may be most briefly summarized. The son of James Carlyle, a stone-mason, he was born at Ecclefechan, " in a room incon- ceivably small," on the 4th of December, 1795. He went to school at Annan, and, in 1809, to the University of Edinburgh. Five years later he returned to the Annan school -J >< < u < o X u < s ffl z ss of it. — cannot take a drive in hzk clatch without risk of beincr t clatch is much safer. All men becoming alarm* I at the state of the antry. — as I think they well may. Jane and her cousin have this niornincr TO MRS. IIASXIXG 129 been got off to Windsor by the Sterlings. The jaunt in the open air will do the poor Wifie good. John is very wefl. I parted with him last night near his own house rather after 10 o'clock. Adieu, dear Mother. Here is a foolish Yankee letter of adoration to me. Burn it ! Your affectionate, T. Carlyle. The picture of Sartor measuring himself for shirts to be made at long range, as it were, is memorable even in the annals of Cheyne Row. XX. CABLYLE TO MRS. HABHIK6, THE GILL. Chelsea, 21 July, 1842. My dear Jenny, — I am glad to hear of your well being, and that you have got done with the shirts, which is a sign of your indus- try. They will be well off your hands, and I have no doubt will be found very suitable when they arrive here. In the meanwhile I do not want them sent off vet till there are some more things to go with them. I am in no want of them yet, and shall not, I think, be so till it will be about time for the meal 130 LETTERS OF CARLYLE to be sent from Scotsbrig. At all events, you may look to that (for the present) as the ■way of sending them, and therefore keep them beside you till some chance of deliver- ing them safe to my Mother or another Scots- brig party turn up. There is no haste about them ; the meal cannot be ready, I suppose, till the end of September, if then. In the meanwhile I want you to make me some flannel things, too, — three flannel shirts especially : you can get the flannel from Alick, if he have any that he can well recommend. You can readily have them made before the other shirts go off : I have taken the measure to-day, and now send you the dimensions, together with a measuring strap which I bought some weeks ago (at one penny) for the purpose ! You are to be care- ful to scour the flannel first, after which process the dimensions are these. Width (when the shirt is laid on its back) 22^ inches, extent from torist button to wrist button 61 inches, 1 length in the back 35 inches, length in the front 25| inches. Do you understand all that? I dare say you will make it out, and this measuring band will enable you to be exact enough. Only 1 So that each sleeve is 19£ inches long. TO MRS. HANNING 131 you must observe that at the beginning of it. . . . Hoity-Toity ! I find that it is I myself that have made a mistake there, and that you have only to measure fair with the line and all will be right; the dimensions as above, 22}, 61, 35, 25J. If you could make me two pairs of flannel drawers, I should like very well too, but that I am afraid will be too hard for you. This is all the express work I have for you at present. Neither is there any news of much moment that I could send you. Jane continues still weak, but seems to gather strength, too. I keep very quiet and very busy, and stand the summer fully better than is usual with me here. John still continues in town, and does not speak of going yet. We meet every Sunday here at Dinner. Our good Mother, you perhaps know, has got over to Jean for some sea bathing about Arbigland. We hope they are all well about Gill, and that a good crop is on its feet for them. Give our kind regards and continual good wishes both to Mary and Jamie, and ac- cept them for yourself. Next time you write you had better tell me how your money stands out ; and if at any time, my dear little Sister, I can help you in anything, be sure 132 LETTERS OF CARLYLE do not neglect to write then. Our love and best wishes to you, dear Jenny. Your affectionate brother, T. Carlyle. In May, on his way back from Temp- land, Carlyle had stopped to visit Dr. Arnold at Rugby, and in August he went to Bel- gium with Mr. Stephen Spring Rice and his younger brother. Of this trip Carlyle wrote an extraordinarily vivid account under title of The Shortest Tour on Record. The picture of the poor lace-maker and her habi- tation, at Ghent, makes one think, by a queer, austere contrary, of an earlier traveler and his adventures. In August, also, Mrs. Carlyle had gone to the Bullers', in Suffolk. Twenty capital pages of Letters and Memorials make her visit live again. XXI. CARLYLE TO HIS MOTHER, SCOTSBRIG. Cambridge, 1th Sep., 1842. My dear Mother, — I am sitting here in the " Hoop Inn " of Cambridge, in a spa- cious apartment, blazing with gaslight and nearly solitary. It strikes me I may as well employ the hour before bedtime in writing a TO HIS MOTHER 133 word for my good Mother, — to explain to her how I am, and above all what in the world I am doing here ! There is a magnifi- cent thunderstorm just going on, or rather beginning to pass off in copious floods of rain, and there is no other sound audible in this room ; one single fellow-traveller lies reading the Times Newspaper on the sofa opposite, and the rain quenches even the sound of his breath. Well, dear Mother, you heard that Jane was gone into Suffolk to Mrs. Buller's, and perhaps you understand or guess that she continues still there ; nay, perhaps Jack may have informed you that on Thursday last (a week ago all but a day) I, after long hig- gling, set out to bring her home. Home, however, she was not to go quite so fast. Mrs. Buller, rather lively up in that region, wanted her to stay a little longer, wanted me also, I suppose, to go flaunting about, calling on Lady this and Sir Henry that, and lioniz- ing and amusing myself as I best might in her neighbourhood. She is very kind in- deed, — more hospitable and good than I have almost ever seen her to anybody. The place Troston is a quiet, sleek, green place, so intersected with green, wide lanes (loanings) 134 LETTERS OF CABLYLE all overgrown with trees that you can hardly find your way in it, — like walking in some coal-mine in paths underground; it or any green country whatever, as you know, is likely to be welcome to me. One day I walked off to a place called Thetford in Norfolk, about 8 miles from us. It was the morrow after my arrival, and I did not know the nature of the lanes then. I lost my way both going and coming, and made the dis- tance 12 or 13 each way, but got home in time to dinner, and was all the better for my walk. Afterwards I never ventured out of sight of Troston Church-tower without first drawing for myself a little map of my route from a big map that hangs in the lobby. With my little map in my waistcoat pocket I feared nothing, and indeed in three days knew all the outs and ins of the country ; — for Mrs. Buller in that interval had contrived to borrow me a farmer's horse to go about on. Was not that a friendly office to a man like me ? But to hasten to the point ! Mrs. Buller' s, I knew beforehand, was but some 30 miles to the east of Cromwell's country ; his birth- place, the farm he had first, and the farm he had second, all lie adjoining on the West- TO HIS MOTHER 135 ward, either in the next County, which is this (Cambridgeshire), or in Huntingdonshire, the one Westward of this. Accordingly, having talked a long enough time about jaunts and pilgrimages, — about it and about it, — I de- cided at last (the women threatening to laugh at me if I did not go) on actually setting off, and accordingly here I am, with my face already homewards, the main part of my little errand successfully accomplished ; and a " rid- ing tour " through the country parts of Eng- land, which I have been talking of these dozen years or more, has actually taken effect on the small scale, — a very small scale in- deed. I have ridden but two days, and on the morrow evening I shall be at Troston again, or near it. My conveyance being the farmer's horse above mentioned, my fatigue has been great ; — for it is the roughest and dourest beast nearly that I ever rode, and to- day in the morning, to mend matters, it took to the trick they call " scouring," — in a sul- len, windless ninny niawing. — Many a time I thought of Alick and Jamie in these Cam- bridge Fens, and wished one or both of them had been near me. But I let the creature take time (for it would have it), and it grad- ually recruited again, though not brilliant at 136 LETTERS OF CARLYLE the best ; and indeed I shall be very willing to wish it good-bye to-morrow evening, were I at Troston again. Poor brute, it cannot help being supple and riding as with stilky- clo2"s at its feet ! It has eaten four and a half feeds of corn to-day, or I think it would altogether have failed. But at any rate I have seen the Cromwell country, got an image of it in my mind for all time henceforth. I was last night at Ely, the Bishop's City of this district. I walked in and about the Cathedral for two good hours. Thought vividly of Cromwell step- ping up these floors, with his sword by his side, bidding the Priest (who would not obey his^rs^ order, but continued reading his lit- urgies), " Cease your fooling and come out, Sir." — One can fancy with what a gollie in the voice of him. I found the very house he had lived in. I sat and smoked a pipe about nine o'clock under the stars on the very "Horseblock" (harjring-on stone) which Oliver had often mounted from, two hundred years ago. It was all full of interest, and though I could get but very little sleep at night, I did not grudge that price. To-day I rode still farther Westward to a place called St. Ives, where Oliver first took to farming. TO HIS MOTHER 137 The house they showed as his I did not be- lieve in, but the fields that he tilled and reaped are veritably there. I sat down under the shade of one of his hedges and kindled a cigar, not without reflections ! I have also seen his native town Huntingdon, with many other things to-day, and am here now on my way homeward, as I said, and will not trouble my dear good Mother with one other word of babblement on the subject at present. No country in itself can well be uglier ; it is all a drained immensity of fen (or soft peat moss), and bears a considerable resemblance to the trench at Dumfries, — if that were some 30 or 40 miles square, with Parish churches innumerable, all built on dry knolls of chalky earth that rise up like islands. You can tell Jamie that it bears heavy crops ! oats, beans, wheat, which they are just con- cluding the leading in of at present ; the rest of the country being done a week or two ago. Dear Mother, was there ever such a clatter of a letter written ? And not one word of news, not one word even of the many hun- dred I could use in inquiring ! We return to Chelsea, I expect, about Monday first. Sat- urday was to be proposed, but will not stand 138 LETTERS OF CARLYLE I believe. Jack is already gone, on Satur- day last, to Cheltenham, and then for North Wales. Right glad am I for him and for you that he is to come into Annandale for a little while. Poor fellow, it is long since he has been there, and he too has his own feel- ings and straits which he does not speak about often. My dear Mother, I will bid you all good-night. I send you my heart's best blessing o'er all the hills and rivers that lie between us to-night. The thunder is gone, and the rain. I will send you a little word when we get to Chelsea ; perhaps there is something from yourself for me already for- warded to Troston. I doubt it. Good-night, my dear true Mother. Ever your affect? T. Carlyle. I know not whether Alick has now any communication with the Whitehaven Tobac- conist ? A quarter of a stone might be ven- tured upon along with the Harvest meal, or by the Doctor or some other conveyance. It keeps in the winter; it could not be worse than my London tobacco all this year. Tell Alick about it ; he rejoices always to help me whenever he can. THE BATTLEFIELD AT NASEBY 139 Carlyle's pilgrimage to Huntingdon, St. Ives, and thereabouts, is not to be con- founded with his former Cromwell journey — to Naseby — undertaken a few months be- fore, with Dr. Arnold. Froude's account of Carlyle's investigation of the battlefield was (necessarily) so incomplete that I venture to quote here two highly interesting letters from a long afterward published book, — Letters of Edward Fitzgerald. Says Fitzgerald, in a memorandum on the subject : — " As I happened to know the Field well, — the greater part of it then belonging to my Family, — I knew that Carlyle and Arnold had been mistaken — misled in part by an Obelisk which my Father had set up as on the highest Ground of the Field, but which they mistook for the centre-ground of the Battle. This I told Carlyle, who was very reluctant to believe that he and Arnold could have been deceived — that he could accept no hearsay Tradition or Theory against the Evidence of his own Eyes, etc. However, as I was just then going down to Naseby, I might enquire further into the matter. " On arriving at Naseby, I had spade and mattock taken to a hill near half a mile across from the ' Blockhead Obelisk/ and 140 LETTERS OF CARLYLE pitted with several hollows, overgrown with rank Vegetation, which Tradition had always pointed to as the Graves of the Slain. One of these I had opened ; and there, sure enough, were the remains of skeletons closely packed together — chiefly teeth — but some remains of Shin-bone, and marks of Skull in the Clay. Some of these, together with some sketches of the Place, I sent to Carlyle." Fitzgerald, in a letter which has apparently not been preserved, sent the results of this first investigation to Carlyle. He wrote also from Naseby the following letter to Bernard Barton : — [Naseby], Septr. 22, /42. My dear Barton, — The pictures are left all ready packed up in Portland Place, and shall come down with me, whenever that desirable event takes place. In the meanwhile here I am as before ; but having received a long and interesting letter from Carlyle asking information about this Battle field, I have trotted about rather more to ascertain names of places, positions, etc. After all, he will make a mad book. I have just seen some of the bones of a dragoon and his horse who were found foundered in a morass in the field — poor dragoon, much THE BATTLEFIELD AT NASEBY 141 dismembered by time : his less worthy mem- bers, having been left in the owner's summer- house for the last twenty years, have disap- peared one by one, but his skull is kept safe in the hall : not a bad skull neither ; and in it some teeth yet holding, and a bit of the iron heel of his boot, put into the skull by way of convenience. This is what Sir Thomas Browne calls " making a man act his Anti- podes." * I have got a fellow to dig at one of the great general graves in the field ; and he tells me to-night that he has come to bones ; to-morrow I will select a neat speci- men or two. In the meantime let the full harvest moon wonder at them as they lie turned up after lying hid 2400 revolutions of hers. Think of that warm 14th of June when the Battle was fought, and they fell pell-mell : and then the country people came and buried them so shallow that the stench was terrible, and the putrid matter oozed over the ground for several yards ; so that the cattle were observed to eat those places very close for some years after. Every one 1 Referring to a passage in the Garden of Cyrus, near the end : " To keep our eyes open longer, were but to act our antipodes. The huntsmen are up in America, and they are already past their first sleep in Persia." 142 LETTERS OF CABLYLE to his taste, as one might well say to any woman who kissed the cow that pastured there. Friday, 23)*d. We have dug at a place, as I said, and made such a trench as would hold a dozen fellows, whose remains positively make up the mould. The bones nearly all rotted away, except the teeth, which are quite good. At the bottom lay the form of a per- fect skeleton : most of the bones gone, but the pressure distinct in the clay ; the thigh and leg bones yet extant ; the skull a little pushed forward, as if there were scanty room. We also tried some other reputed graves, but found nothing ; indeed, it is not easy to dis- tinguish what are graves from old marlpits, etc. I don't care for all this bone-rummaging myself; but the identification of the graves identifies also where the greatest heat of the battle was. Do you wish for a tooth ? As I began this antiquarian account in a letter to you, so I have finished it, that you may mention it to my Papa, who perhaps will be amused at it. Two farmers insisted on going out exploring with me all day : one a very solid fellow, who talks like the justices in Shakespeare, but who certainly was in- spired in finding out this grave ; the other a TO EDWARD FITZGERALD 143 Scotchman, full of intelligence, who proposed the flesh-soil for manure for turnips. The old Vicar, whose age reaches halfway back to the day of the Battle, stood tottering over the verge of the trench. Carlyle has shewn great sagacity in guessing at the localities from the vague descriptions of contempora- ries ; and his short pasticcio of the battle is the best I have seen. But he will spoil all by making a demigod of Cromwell, who cer- tainly was so far from wise that he brought about the very thing he fought to prevent, — the restoration of an unrestricted monarchy. The substance of this letter was of course communicated by Fitzgerald to Carlyle, who promptly and gratefully replied. Chelsea, Saturday, 25 [24] Septr. 1842. My dear Sir, — You will do me and the Genius of History a real favour, if you per- sist in these examinations and excavations to the utmost length possible for you ! It is Ion a- since I read a letter so interesting as yours of yesterday. Clearly enough you are upon the very battle-ground ; — and I, it is also clear, have only looked up towards it from the slope of Mill Hill. "Were not the 144 LETTERS OF CARLYLE weather so wet, were not, etc., etc., so many etceteras, I could almost think of running* up to join you still ! But that is evidently un- feasible at present. The opening of that burial -heap blazes strangely in my thoughts : these are the very jawbones that were clenched together in deadly rage, on this very ground, 197 years asfo ! It brings the matter home to one, with a strange veracity, — as if for the first time one saw it to be no fable and theory, but a dire fact. I will beg for a tooth and a bullet ; authenticated by your own eyes and word of honour ! Our Scotch friend, too, making turnip manure of it, — he is part of the Picture. I understand almost all the Netherlands battlefields have already given up their bones to British husbandry ; why not the old English next ? Honour to thrift. If of 5000 wasted men you can make a few usable turnips, why, do it ! The more sketches and details you can contrive to send me, the better. I want to know, for one thing, whether there is any house on Cloisterwell ; what house that was that I saw from the slope of Naseby height (Mill-hill, I suppose), and fancied to be Dust Hill Farm? It must lie about North by TO EDWARD FITZGERALD 145 West from Naseby Church, perhaps near a mile off. You say, one cannot see Dust Hill at all, much less any farm house of Dust Hill, from that Naseby Height ? But why does the Obelisk stand there? It might as well stand at Charing Cross ; the blockhead that it is ! I again wish I had wings ; alas, I wish many things ; that the gods would but annihilate Time and Space, which would include all things ! In great haste, Yours most truly, T. Carlyle. Both Carlyle's letter to Fitzgerald and that to his mother from Cambridge are nota- ble illustrations of the insatiable hunger of the eye which went far to make him the great writer he was. The print of those teeth on his mind is shown in Cromwell, where we read : " A friend of mine has in his cabinet two ancient grinder-teeth, dug lately from that ground, — and waits for an opportunity to rebury them there. Sound, effectual grinders, one of them very large ; which ate their breakfast on the fourteenth morning of June, two hundred years ago, and, except to be clenched once in grim battle, had never work to do more in this world ! " 146 LETTERS OF CARLYLE The old mother was not ungrateful for her son's mindfulness. Nothing in their re- lations is more touching than the brevity and stiffness of her letters, with every now and then some burst of natural affection which even the artificial medium cannot check. Margaret Carlyle had learned to write in adult life for the sake of replying to her son's letters, but the pen never became an obedient instrument in her hand. She could always have sympathized with Joe Gargery. XXII. TO CARLYLE FROM HIS MOTHER. Scotsbrig, Sept. 13, 1842. My dear Son, — It is a long time since you had a word from me, though I have had many kind letters from you, for which if I am not thankful enough, I am glad. I am full as well as I was when you saw me last. I am reading the poem on " Luther " and I am much pleased with it. I wish the author Godspeed. It is a good subject and well handled, is my opinion of it. I had a letter from John yesterday, he thinks he will see us in the Course of a month or so. We will be glad to see him again if it please God. We have excellent weather here. I do not re- member such a summer and harvest. Jamie MRS. CAELYLE TO MRS. HANNING 147 had a good crop and very near all in and well got up. Isabel is still poorly. She is rather better than she was at one time. How are you after your wanderings ? Write as soon as you can and tell us all your news. Ever your affectionate Mother, M. A. C. XXIII. TO MRS. HANNING, AT THE GILL, FROM HER MOTHER. Scotsbrig, Monday [1840-1851]. My dear Jenny, — I have been longing for you to come here for a long time. I want to send two hams on to London. Could you get a box which would hold the shirts and both could be sent at the same time. If you have not sent them any, bring them over as soon as you can, and come soon. At any rate bring the winter things that Jean sent. We are all in our frail way of health. Give my kindest love to young and old. Ever your old mother, M. A. C. In the letter subjoined, Carry le gives his mother the conclusion of his visit to the Bullers, of which he had written so fully. 148 LETTERS OF CARLYLE " The good Mrs. Strachey," sister to Mrs. Buller, was the pious widow of a rich exami- ner in the India House. Mr. Strachey, eigh- teen years before, had accompanied Carlyle to Paris. " Min " must have been a household name for Miss Jeannie Welsh. XXIV. CARLYLE TO HIS MOTHER, SCOTSBRIG. Chelsea, 19th Sept. 1842. My dear Mother, — Will you take the smallest of notes from me merely to perform the essential function of a note, — ask you how you are and say that I am well. I wrote you ten days ago a long letter dated Cambridge from my Inn in that Town. This I hope you received duly. It would let you into my ways in those weeks. Next day I got well enough back to Troston, rain attending me for the last two hours. I was terribly wearied of my great flat-soled mon- ster of a horse, but much gratified with my pilgrimage and all rejoiced very handsomely at my return. Charles had come in the in- terim. They would not let us away on Mon- day as we proposed. It was settled at last that Thursday should be the day. Charles came up with us to Town. We had a very pleasant kind of journey and got safe home TO HIS MOTHER 149 to dinner here. So ends the Troston journey and I think all travelling for this season. The good Mrs. Strachey, who is now in Italy, wrote to offer us her house and servants for two months at Clifton, a beautiful Village near Bristol, 100 miles to the west of us, but we have refused. Rolling stone gathers little bog. I must resolutely get some work done now. Jane seems really better for her country excursion. I observed to-day that she eats a whole slice of bread to breakfast again. Little Min W. is still here. I think she likes much better to be here than at home, in the midst of luxury but also of Liverpool stupid- ity. She is a fine cheery little lass, very pretty too, and would make a good wife for somebody. The Duke of Buccleuch has now actually paid me the £100 — at least sent a draft payable in 10 days hence. I sent my thanks and the business is all over — a right agree- able result. You may tell Jamie that the Templand Grates too are paid, payable at the same time ; that we saved the Grates that day, and our broiling journey was not in vain, therefore. I hope they have now all got a sight of 150 LETTERS OF CABLYLE your picture and that I shall get it soon. It will be needless to wait for Jack, he, as I re- flect, can do nothing towards carrying it. Poor fellow — you will see him again. Here is his last letter, though it can have no news for you. How goes Jamie's harvest? The weather has been brittle ever since that thun- derstorm. How go you yourself, my dear good Mother ? Somebody ought to write to me now. I do not hear anything even from Jean. Could Jenny make me two pairs of flannel drawers along with the shirts ? I fear not. Adieu, dear Mother, my love to one and all. T. Carlylb. XXV. CARLYLE TO MRS. HANKING, THE GILL. Chelsea, 2d Nov. 1842. My dear Jenny, — Yesterday I meant to have written to you, in order to be ready for Thursday at Annan, such had been my firm purpose, but something came in the way, and I altogether forgot till this morning. Lest I make a similar mistake for Saturday too, I will take time by the forelock and write even now. The barrel of meal, and the box of garments arrived all safe, on Saturday night last. TO MRS. HANNING 151 And I have to apprize you, as the expert needlewoman of the whole, that all Jits with perfect correctness. I have had a pair of drawers on, and a flannel shirt, I have one of the cambric shirts on me at present : every- thing is as right as if it had been made under my own eye. The flannel of the shirts is excellent, they are made to the very measure. The drawers also are the best Jit of the article I have had for several years back ; two of the pairs, I observe, are of the fine flannel the shirts are of. Perhaps it will prove too cool for the depth of winter — - perhaps not, but either way I have plenty of warmer, for that season. One of the pairs is of right shaggy flannel. My good Mother sent a fine wool plaid too and a dozen pair of socks, few mor- tals are better off for woolen this winter ! — As to the muslin shirts Jane says they are excellently sewed, — She is the judge, I find them to lie Jlat on the breast too, which the old would never do. In short, it is all perfectly right ; and you ■will be very glad, I doubt not, that you have got it well off your hands. If in the course of the winter, you fall out of work, and want a canny job for yourself, it will be acceptable enough to me that you set Jean 152 LETTERS OF CAELYLE upon getting you some more stuff, and make me half a dozen more of the like shirts ! But this you need not, unless in the aforesaid case. I believe the stock I have will serve me some couple of years or more. But they eat no bread. — If you ever do think of this, you can let me know before starting ; I may perhaps have some remarks to make. You will be nestling all under cover now at Gill, when the short days and the frosts are come. I hope you have a right stock of fuel in your end of the house ; and that your little carpet is now complete. I long to question the Dr. about you when he comes back hither. He is at a place they call Malvern some 120 miles west of this. How are Mary and Jamie ? very busy, and well, I hope. Mary never writes. I sent James a tobacco-box ! — Poor Allan Cunning- ham the Poet is dead very suddenly ; a sad event for several of us ! — Adieu, Dear little sister. Ever your affect. T. Carlyle. Much as Carlyle had been thinking about Cromwell, another book was to come first, — a book for which his very trip to Cromwell's [To Mrs. H aiming] CZ^Zi^ f l< u^*-, , L<&ti UZJLf J ^^ ci ^2u^/t w **f < Wu/W ^W ^^*~ * c *-aa ^^v^ ^^ A PROFESSIONAL JOURNEY 153 country was fruitful in suggestion. At St. Ives he had seen not only Cromwell's farm, but also St. Ives poorhouse with its inhabit- ants, — " in the sun," to be sure, but neither spinsters nor knitters, nor workers after any fashion, for the simple reason that they had no work to do. The Chartist riots of 1842 remained in Carlyle's mind with this symbolic picture, and by October of the same year he was deeply pondering the condition of " the English nation all sitting enchanted, the poor enchanted so that they cannot work, the rich enchanted so that they cannot enjoy." . Over against this contemporary view Carlyle set the life of the monks of Bury St. Edmunds, as told by their chronicler, Jocelyn de Brake- londe ; and the result was Past and Present, written, apparently with less struggle than any of the author's other books, in the first seven weeks of 1843. Although Carlyle went too far in this work, — as indeed he so seldom failed to do, — Past and Present proved the germ of more than one sadly needed reform ; and the splendid, sonorous passage beginning, " All true work is sacred," will remain, one must believe, an inalienable possession of English literature and English morals. 154 LETTERS OF CABLYLE Publication followed in April, and soon afterward Carlyle wrote in his Journal : " That book always stood between me and Cromwell, and now that has fledged itself and flown off." Face to face with Oliver again, Carlyle went in the summer of 184:3 to see famous battlefields of the civil war. He so planned his itinerary as to reach Dun- bar on the 3d of September, — the day of the fight there, the day of Worcester fight, and the day of Cromwell's death. This professional journey was preceded by a peaceful month at Scotsbrig, and followed by a visit to Erskine which fixes the date of the next letter. XXVI. CARLYLE TO HIS MOTHER, SCOTSBRIG. [Linlathen, early September, 1843.] Yesterday by appointment, the good Thomas Erskine took me up at Kirkcaldy, carried me off hither on the top of the coach, bag and baggage. The day was damp and dim, not exactly wet, yet in danger of becom- ing very. There had been rain in the night time (Sabbath night or early on Monday morn- ing) but there fell no more. This day again is oppressively hot, dry yet without sun or wind — a baddish " day for a stock." But TO HIS MOTHER 155 they prophesy fair weather now — which I shall be glad of, and the whole country will be glad, for all is white here, in sheaves and stooks, and little got into ricks. We got here about 5 in the evening, a great party of people in the house (a big Laird's house with, flunkeys &c, &c). I was heartily tired before I got to bed. I do not think I shall be rightly at rest till I get on ship board, then I will lie down and let all men have a care of stirring me, — they had better let the sleeping dog lie ! The Dundee steamers are allowed to be the best on these waters, large swift ships and very few passengers in them at present. I spoke for my place yesterday and am to have the best. The kind people here will relieve me down (it is four miles off) and then about 4 o'clock in the afternoon — I shall — light a pipe in peace and think of you all, speaking not a word. I expect to sleep well there too, and then on Friday, per- haps about 3 o'clock, I may be at London Bridge and home by the most convenient conveyance to Chelsea for dinner. This, if all go well, this ends for the present my pil- grimings up and down the world. Dear Mother, I wish I had gone direct home when I left you, for it is not pleasant 156 LETTERS OF CARLYLE somehow to be still in Scotland and far from you. I speak not the thoughts I send to- wards you, for speech will not express them. If I arrive home on Friday you may perhaps find a newspaper at Ecclefechan on Sabbath morning, Monday much likelier. God bless you all. T. Carlyle. The passage about Jeffrey in the next let- ter is better than the corresponding one given by Froude. The reader who remembers Jef- frey's complaint that Carlyle was " so dread- fully in earnest," will smile at Carlyle's coun- ter charge that Jeffrey had " too little real seriousness in him " to " make a nice old man." XXVII. CARLYLE TO HIS MOTHER, SCOTSBRIG. LlNLATHEN, DUNDEE, Tuesday, 12th Sep. 1843. My dear Mother, — According to pro- mise, I write you another little word to an- nounce that I am safe so far on my way, that I embark to-morrow and hope to be home on Friday afternoon. I am heartily desirous of it ! This last part of my travels has been considerably the weariest, for I have been all TO HIS MOTHER 157 along eager chiefly to have done with it. Jamie knows how fain I would never have entered upon it all. He took notice of my reluctance at Dumfries and how welcome a shower of rain would have been to me ! However it is near ending now ; and I shall enjoy the quiet of home all the more. One thing, dear Mother, let me straightway tell you ; that I have not left one of my new shirts, that the whole six, when I fold them duly out, are here. I grieve that you should have had a moment's uneasiness about that matter, which is due only to my own blind- ness and numbness ; my hope is that you did not take it up too earnestly, but left the matter over " till Jenny came." I have now got two letters from Jane, the last of them only yesterday ! All is well at Chelsea; Jack not yet settled in any lodging, nor in the least decided what to do, but " in a state of torpor ' as Jane says " playing with the cat." He was dining with Lady Clare ; that was the last feat recorded of him. I was much grieved to hear that you had somehow missed Alick's letter : has it never yet turned up for you ? I am too ig- norant about the business to form any con- jecture how it could have come about. Mean- 158 LETTERS OF CARLYLE while it was very lucky that there came another letter of the same date for Jack : — this I am in hopes will be ready for me at London when I arrive. By the bye, might it not be that Alick had only meant and fully intended to write you a letter, and then had suddenly found that he would not have time by that mail ? Of course the two letters, if there had been two, would come together : it is unaccountable how one of them should drop by the way. What a blessing to us to hear that poor Alick is safe there and ready to begin his adventure on fair terms. Jane says his letter is of very composed tone and " very practical looking." She seems to like the tone of it well. I went over to Edin- burgh since I last wrote. I there saw Gor- don, saw various other friends — with more or less of labour and fatigue. I spent a fore- noon with Jeffrey who is very thin and fret- ful I think ; being at any rate weakly, he is much annoyed at present by a hurt on his shin — a quite insignificant thing otherwise, which however disables him from walking-. Poor Jeffrey ! he does not make a nice old man, he has too little real seriousness in him for that. On the whole I was heartily glad to quit Edinburgh again and get away from HOUSEHOLD CHANGES 159 it into quietude across the Frith. I wrote to Jean at Dumfries one day. " Carlyle returned from his travels very bilious," so his wife wrote to Mrs. Aitken in October, 1843, " and continues very bilious up to this hour." He could not refuse a " certain admiration ' : at the state of the house, which had been painted and papered in his absence. Mrs. Carlyle, with her own hands, had put down carpets, newly covered chairs and sofas, and arranged a library ac- cording to his (expressed) mind. His satis- faction lasted only three days, for on the morning of the fourth day " the young lady next door took a fit of practising on her ac- cursed piano-forte." There had then to be another upheaval : " down went a partition in one room, up went a new chimney in another ; ' and still another library, farther from the piano, was thus contrived. Finally, the young lady, charmed by " a seductive letter " from Carlyle, agreed never to play until two in the afternoon. The dinner hour was changed to the middle of the day, be- cause Carlyle thought it would be better for his digestion. Although these changes, which in Mrs. 160 LETTERS OF CARLYLE Carlyle's account seem planet-shaking, were in the interest of Cromwell, Cromwell re- mained persistently unwritable. On the 4th of December the historian wrote to Sterling : " Confound it ! I have lost four years of good labour in the business ; and still the more I expend on it, it is like throwing good labour after bad." Two days later he put a better face on it to his mother. XXVIII. CARLYLE TO HIS MOTHER, SCOTSBRIG. Chelsea, Monday, 6th Dec. 1843. My dear Mother, — We have a letter from Jean this week, who reports a visit to you and gives us a description of what you were about. We were very glad to look in upon you in that way. Jean describes you as very well when they came, but since then (though she tells us of your prohibition to mention it at all) there has been some ill turn of health which we long greatly to hear of the removal of ! I study, dear Mother, not to afflict myself with useless anxieties, but on the whole it is much better that one knows exactly how matters do stand, the very fact, no better and no worse than it is. To- day there was a little Note from James Ait- ken apprising us that the Books are come, TO HIS MOTHER 161 that Jenny is with him. He has evidently heard nothing farther from Scotsbrig, so we will hope things may have got into their usual course again there. But Jamie or somebody may write us a scrap of intelli- gence, surely ? . . . This is said to be a very unhealthy season here ; for the past two months about two hundred more deaths in the week have oc- curred than is usual at this season, but I rather conjecture it is the result of the long continued hardship the Poor have been suf- fering, which now, after wearing out the con- stitution by hunger and distress of mind, be- gins to tell more visibly ! Our weather is very mild, soft without any great quantity of rain and not at all disagreeable. Jane's cold is gone again and we are in our common way. My Book goes on badly, yet I do think it goes on, in fact it must go : Bore away at it with continuous boring day and night and it will be obliged to go ! I study how- ever not to " split my gall " with it, but to " hasten slowly " as the old Romans said. When writing will not brother with me at all, I fling it entirely by and go and walk many a mile in the country. I have big thick 162 LETTERS OF CARLYLE shoes, my jacket is waterproof against slight rain, I take a stick in my hand and walk with long strides. The farther I walk, the abler I grow ; in fact I am rather in better health, I think, than usual, if all things are consid- ered. Jack and I had a long- walk after Tailors for some three hours in the moon- light streets last night. To-day it is damp, but I am for a sally again. Alas, it is but a very poor morning task I have done, but we cannot help it. Adieu, dear good Mother, for our sakes take care of yourself. My love to all. Yours affection 1 / T. Carlyle. Carlyle never liked any portrait of himself. The one mentioned in the following- letter had made him look like " a flayed horse's head." XXIX. CARLYLE TO HIS MOTHER, SCOTSBRTG. Chelsea, 10th March, 1844. My dear Mother, — It is a shame for me if I do not write a bit of a letter to you. There is nothing else I can do for you at present. I will scribble you a few words of TO HIS MOTHER 163 news on this paper, let other employments fare as they can for the present. I sent your good little note to the Doctor. Jamie's letter for Alick came duly to hand and was duly forwarded ; I also wrote a let- ter to Alick myself. Poor fellow, I suppose he has had a very solitary, meditative winter of it over in America, and has no doubt had a great many reflections in his head, looking back and looking forward, with perhaps sad- ness enough, but it will do him good, I really believe. Perhaps this winter, seemingly one of the idlest he has had, may turn out to be one of the most profitably occupied. My own hope and persuasion is that he will now do well, that he is probably about to begin a new course of activity on better terms than before, better terms both inward and out- ward, and that in fine, poor fellow, he may begin to see the fruit of his labor round him and go on with much more peace and pro- sperity than heretofore. ... I also like the tone of his letters, which is much quieter than it used to be. He does not know, I suppose, in what direction he is to go when April arrives. I urged, as Jamie did, that a healthy quality of situation should outweigh all other considerations whatever, that for the 164 LETTERS OF CAELYLE rest all places seemed to me much alike ; if the land were cheap, it would be unfavour- ably situated &c. I also hinted my notion that a small piece of good handy soil might be preferable to a large lot of untowardly, outlying ground. We can only hope and pray he may be guided loell. We cannot assist him with any real guidance. Difficul- ties beset a man everywhere under this sun. There if he have patience, insight, energy and justness of mind he will daily conquer farther, — not otherwise, either in America or here. But, as I said, I have never lost hope with Alick, and I have now better hope than ever. We will commit him to the all- wise Governor with many a prayer from the bottom of all our hearts that it may be well with him. To hear and know that he does see good under the sun, fighting his way like a true man in that new country ! — what a comfort to you and to every one of us. My dear Mother, I know your heart is many a time sad about Alick. He is far away and there are others of us gone still farther, be- yond the shores of this earth, whither our poor thoughts vainly strive to follow them, — our hearts' love following them still : — but we know this one thing, that God is there TO HIS MOTHER 165 also, in America, in the dark Grave itself and the unseen Eternity — even He is there too, and will not He do all things well ? We have no other Anchor of the soul in any of the tempests, great or little, of this world. By this let us hold fast and piously hope in all scenes and seasons whatsoever. Amen. You bid me " call on Patience " in this Book of mine. Dear Mother, it is the best and only good advice that can be given. I do endeavour to call on patience and sometimes she comes, and if I keep my shoulder stiffly at the wheel withal, we shall certainly get under way by and bye. The thing goes in- deed, or now promises to go, a little better with me. I stand to it as I can. But it will be a terribly difficult job and take a long time, I think. However, that it is a useful one, worthy to be done by me I am resolved, and so I will do it if permitted — the return and earthy reward of it may be either great or small, or even nothing and abuse into the bargain, just as it likes. Thank Heaven I can do either or any way as to that, for this time, and indeed, often when I look at it, the prizes people get in this world and the kind of people that get them seem but a ridiculous business. If there were not something more 166 LETTERS OF CARLYLE serious behind all that, I think it would hardly be worth while to live in such a place as this world at all. In short I hold on the best I can — and my good Mother's picture looking down on me here, seems to bid me " call on Patience " and persevere like a man. Jane has not been very well in these cold stormy weeks, but I think is now getting better again. It is the spring weather, which this year has been the real winter ; all manner of people are unwell here at present. You in the North have it still worse, far worse than we. Many a time have I asked myself what is becoming of my good old Mother in these wild blasts. Surely you keep good fires at Scotsbrig ? Surely you wear the new Hawick sloughs ? Jane finds hers very warm and nice ; but the thing you might improve greatly and never do is your diet. I think you should live chiefly on fowl. A hen is always fair food, divide her into four pieces — she makes you an excellent dinner of soup and meat for four days. This you know very well for others, but never learn it for your- self. I am very serious. You should actu- ally set about this reform. Do now — you will find it more important on your health than any medicine or other appliance you can TO HIS MOTHER 167 think of. Jenny, I suppose, is still at the Giil. When you feel tired of solitude again she will come hack to you. The bairns as they grow will be quieter and give less trou- ble. Poor Jenny, no doubt of it, she has many cares of her own : we should all be gentle with her, pity her and help her what we can. But now I suppose you are very impatient to know what is in that paste board roll tied with string. Open the string with your scis- sors and you will see — one of the ugliest pictures ever drawn of man. A certain per- son here has been publishing some book called " Spirit of the Age," pretending to give people account of all the remarkable men of the age; he has put me into it — better luck to him. He wrote several months ago requesting that I should furnish him with some life of myself — forsooth ! This I alto- gether begged leave respectfully to decline, but he got hold of a picture that a certain painter has of me, and of this he has made an engraving, — like me in nothing, or in very little, I should flatter myself. Let Isa- bella roll the paper of it the contrary way and then it will lie flat, if indeed the post office bags do not squeeze it all to pieces, 168 LETTERS OF CAELYLE which I think is fully as likely and will be no great matter. I sent it to you as to the one that had a right to it. Much good may it do you! Jamie said he would write. Let him do so — or else you yourself ought to write, or both will be best. Jack and I were at Dinner to- gether among a set of notables the night be- fore last, came home together smoking two cigars, all right. Adieu, dear Mother, my big sheet is done. My regards to Isabella, to Jamie and them all. My blessings with you, dear Mother. Yours affect. T. Carlyle. Carlyle maps the Gill, as well as other places to which these letters make frequent reference, in his introductory note to Letter 283, in the " Letters and Memorials of Jane Welsh Carlyle : " — " The Gill, Sister Mary's poor but ever kind and generous human habitation, is a small farmhouse, seven miles beyond Annan, twenty-seven beyond Carlisle, eiofht or ten miles short of Dumfries. . . . Scotsbrio^ lies some ten miles northward of the Gill (road at right angles to the Carlisle and Dumfries Railway)." TO MRS. JAMES AUSTIN 169 " Our brother," spoken of in the second paragraph, is again the half-brother already mentioned. XXX. CARLYLE TO MRS. JAMES AUSTIN, THE GILL. Chelsea, 30tk April, 1844. My dear Mary, — We seldom hear di- rectly of you and it is a long while since you have had an express word from any of our hands here. You are not to suppose that we forget you on that account. Far enough from that ! You are many times in my thoughts. I fancy you and James strug- gling along in your diligent, industrious way, struggling to fight your battles in these bad times, and from the bottom of my heart I affectionately bid you God Speed. Struggle away, my dear sister. We must so struggle and we must not be beaten. Assure yourself always that I am not less brother-like in heart towards you than in old days when you saw me oftener and heard from me oftener. To- day I send you a little slip of paper which will turn into a sovereign when you present it at the Annan Post Office and sign your name " Mary Austin " — from me " at Chelsea." If you be not there yourself, James can sign for you if you sign it first, but the thing is 170 LETTERS OF CARLYLE in no haste and will lie till you go. Buy yourself a bit of a bonnet or anything you like with the piece of money and wear it with my blessing, sometimes thinking of us here. No doubt you hear duly about us. You have heard I suppose how Alick is gone over to Canada, to our brother there, not into the deep Western regions of America with Clow, which Canada arrangement of Alick's we like better than the other. It seems to me Alick may do well there now. He will get a piece of land and every year that he tills it faith- fully it will be growing better for him. La- bour is labour, not joyful but heavy and sore in any part of this world, but if a person see any fruit of his labour it is always an encour- agement to him. Our dear old Mother seems to have been rather weaklier this last winter than hereto- fore. Jack had a letter yesterday from Jen- nie at Scotsbrig which represents her as being pretty well at present. I think Jenny should stay much with her and look after her. Good old Mother — the spring weather will grow gradually into steady summer and then she will have a better time of it, we may hope. Jack was here last night. He talks of go- ing North to " the country," probably toward TO MRS. JAMES AUSTIN 171 Annandale, before long, but his movements are very uncertain. He has not yet any fixed employment here and would be much better if he had. He does not seem to like medicine and is hovering among a great variety of things. We always hope he will fix himself on some specific object by and bye. As for me I am very busy but making very bad progress. I have nothing for it but to bore along mole-like ; I shall get out some time or other. Our spring wind has turned round tempestuously into the North of late and brought cold and dust, with the glare of sunshine, not so pleasant to the invalid part of us. Jane, however, is tolerably well and growing stronger as the sun grows. She sends her old love to you and kind remem- brances. Give my regards to James — he must be planting his potatoes now. Love to you. John Sterling, whose illness is lamented in the next letter, died on the 18th of the fol- lowing September. Shortly before his death he wrote to Carlyle : " Towards me, it is still more true than towards England, that no man has been and done like you." 172 LETTERS OF CARLYLE XXXI. CARLYLE TO DR. JOHN CARLYLE, SCOTSBRIG. Chelsea, 5th Aug. 1844. My dear Brother, — Your letter in my dearth of news was very welcome to me. You should keep me going at least for Scots- brig news while you are there. Our good Mother must go back to the bathing. I hope the next spring, rides will prove handier. Our weather here too is much broken with rain, though otherwise warm and genial. I asked about your Book-sheets of Coch- rane. The sheets were duly furnished : the book is lying bound and ready in the London Library. I would have brought it home with me had there been a conveyance at my com- mand. I left it lying there for yourself. Our City is got almost empty and very quiet in comparison. I hope I shall get on with some- what less interruption in my labour ; it is a sluggish element, sluggish as thick mud and bottomless, except when one makes a bottom. Nothing but strenuous hard work, harder than I have yet continuously given it, will ever bring me through ; for all is chaos within it and without it. Eheu ! A striving Scotch youth came to me the other week, equal, as he said, to all kinds of TO DR. JOHN CARLYLE 173 old manuscripts &c, &c. I gave him a sov- ereign to copy me that Election Tumult ? of d'Ewer at Ipswich. I have got that here and think of trying to make a magazine article of it somewhere. The poor lad at- tempted farther to make an estimate of copy- ing all d'Ewer's Parl't manuscript for me. £30, he said, would do it and I had for some days real thoughts of the thing, but alas, my man in the interim was discovered by me to be a quite loose-talking, dishonest-minded little thing, unable to employ on any busi- ness ; so having found him a job with Mau- rice, writing to dictation (in which dishonesty cannot long remain undetected) I shook him off, but it does partly appear to me I must have that MSS. to read and con over at my leisure — if possible. I am now about con- sulting with the Secretary of the Camden Society ; but expect to hear that they, poor dilettante quacks, will do nothing. Nothing however will serve me as an answer from them. I think if I had the MS. right here I could either now or some time pay myself £30 of it. On the whole I am looking out for a hand amanuensis to copy me a good many things. I find such a one may be got, if you alight luckily, for some £60 or £80 174 LETTERS OF CABLYLE to work all the year round; it is but the price of keeping a horse here. On the other hand no Bookseller can be made in the least to bite at such a thing ; — the inane mounte- bank quacks, — one must do it one's self or it will remain undone. I made them get into the Library a Thrigg and now also a Vicen, Part First, which are real conquests to me. Nothing remarkable has arrived here ex- cept Emerson's letter, which indeed is not very remarkable either. Poor Sterling, as you will see by it, and may know more directly now from me, continues very ill, even I begin now to doubt, to despond alto- gether. He is obliged to " sit up all night propped with pillows," the greater part of his lungs (Clark says) is quite useless to him and he cannot get breath enough without immense difficulty. Anthony is going down to wait near him awhile. Poor Sterling ! I fear the worst. Robertson, they say, is in Sutherland, marking: out the site of Free Kirks. Go ahead ! Jamie's letter was very gratifying and satisfactory ; certainly we will take a couple more of Annandale hams. I will write to him more specially on the subject very soon. TO MRS. HANNING 175 Isabella too is in the way of shower baths and better : Bravely that is good. Did any of you write to Alick by this mail ? Jane is well again from her bit of headaches. Bless- ings on my Mother and you all. T. In 1844 there was " no Scotland " for Car- lyle, but early in September he went to Mr. and Lady Harriet Baring at the Grange. The Baring friendship had begun to rise into his life, — not yet in the form of a cloud. All the rest of the year Carlyle stayed closely at home, working on Cromwell, and seeing fewer people than usual. The follow- ing quaint fragment belongs to this period, from which Froude has preserved none of Carlyle's letters or journal record. XXXII. CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNING. Chelsea, 16th Dec. 1844. Dear Jenny, — I dare say you can knit Wristikins. It has struck me in these cold days I might as well apply to you to have a pair. The best pair I yet have is a very old pair now, which either you, or I think Jean, 176 LETTERS OF CAELYLE knit for me at Hoddam Hill when you were little bairns many years ago. They have beautiful stripes of red yet, as fresh as ever. In fact I sometimes wear them in preference to the pair Jane has bought for me out of the shops here. Being already provided as you see I will not in the least hurry you as to the matter — wait till you have leisure, till you can get right your colors &c. &c. — only I will tell you what kind of thing will suit me and how you can do it when convenient. The great defect of all my present wristikins is that they are too slight, too thin, and do not fill up the cuff of the coat, which is rather wide with me. They should be at least double the common thickness of those in the shops. If you had fine, boozy yarn and took it two ply it will make a pretty article. Then as to color, it should be deep for our reeky atmosphere here ; red is beautiful, a stripe of good red, and holds out well, but perhaps the basis had better be some sort of brown. Please your own eye. There never was a good horse had an ill color. As to breadth I think they should be at least three inches. . . . The horse which Carlyle describes to his TO HIS MOTHER 177 mother as " a very darling article " was a new one, called " Black Duncan." Of Addiscombe Froude writes : " The Bar- ings had a villa at Addiscombe, and during the London season frequently escaped into the Surrey sunshine." XXXIII. CARLYLE TO HIS MOTHER, SCOTSBRIG. Chelsea, 12tk July, 1845. My dear Mother, — My hurry is indeed great, but it ought to be greater than it is before I neglect writing you a little word this week as I did last. I am whipt about from post to pillar at a strange rate in these weeks. Jack's visit to you was a welcome piece of news here. The good account he gave of you was much wanted. We are very sorry indeed to hear of poor Isabella. It seems as if nothing could be done for her, and her own weakness and suffering must be very great. Jamie is kind and patient, you may assure him of our sympathies. A sudden turn for the better may take place, I understand, as of its own accord all at once. Let us keep hoping the best. The back of this sorrowful Book is now broken. I think another month of stiff labour will see it well through. They are printing 178 LETTERS OF CARLYLE away at the second volume — about half done. I have to go along amid endless con- fusions, the way one has to do in all work whatsoever. The Book will, on the whole, be better than I hoped, and I have had some honest thoughts in the writing of it which make me the more careless what kind of re- ception the world gives it. The world had better try to understand it, I think, and to like it as well as it can ! Here is another leaf of a proof sheet to be a token to you of our progress. So soon as ever it is over I am off for Annandale. The heat has never been very oppressive to me, never violent beyond a day or two at a time, then rain comes and cools it again. I get considerable benefit of my horse, which is a very darling article, black, high, very good natured, very swift — and takes me out into the green country for a taste of that almost every day. I some- times think of riding it up into Annandale, but that will be too lengthy an operation. Jane is going to Liverpool to her Uncle's in a fortnight. She will stay with them a week, then another week with some country friends in that quarter. I wished her to go to Scotland and see old friends there at Haddington and elsewhere, but she is rather TO HIS MOTHER 179 reluctant to that. She is not very strong and has many sorrows of her own, poor little thing, being very solitary in the world now. In summer however she is always better. I have heard nothing; from Jack of late days. I suppose him to be still at Mr. Raine's. Perhaps uncertain whitherward he will go next. At any rate country is better than town at present, — free quarter than board-wages. I expect he will come back to you again before the season end. We were out at a place called Acldiscombe last week among great people, very kind to us, but poor Jane could sleep only about an hour each night — three hours in all. I stayed but one night, came home on my black horse again. Some peace and rest among green things would be very welcome to me — and it is coming soon, I hope. Adieu, dear Mother — my kind love to you and to all of them. I am in great haste and can speak but a few words to mean much by them. My blessings with you. On the 26th August, 1845, Carlyle wrote : " I have this moment ended Oliver ; hang it ! He is ended, thrums and all." And presently 180 LETTERS OF CARLYLE the author joined his wife at Seaforth near Liverpool. After a few days there with the Paulets, he went on by water to Annan and his mother. From Seaforth again, he writes to her on the journey Chelsea-ward. xxxiv. carlyle to his mother, scotsbrig. Seaforth, Liverpool, Friday, 17 Oct'r, 1845. My dear Mother, — I hope you have, this morning, got the little Note I pushed into the Post Office for you at Lancaster, and consoled yourself with the assurance that all the difficult part of my journey was well over. I am quite safe, and in good quarters here, since yesterday afternoon ; and will now write you another word with a little more delibera- tion than yesterday. My journey hither was altogether really pleasant : a fine bright day, and a swift smooth carriage to sit in, nothing wanted that one could wish on such an occa- sion. I got along to this house about half past four, when dinner was ready and a wel- come as if it had been home, — real joy to me. It has all gone much better than I could have expected since I quitted Kirtlebrig and Jamie, that night. I find the good people here did send their TO HIS MOTHER 181 carriage for the Steamer ; and a very wild adventure that was, and much better that / had but little to do with it, and could plead that I had forbidden them to do such a thing ! The Paulet carriage went duly to the Clarence Dock, after inquiring at the Steamer Office too, and waited for the Royal Victoria from half past 8 on Wednesday night till past 12, when the Docks close; but no Royal Victoria came ! She did not make her ap- pearance till noon yesterday, owing to fog or wind, or what cause I have not yet heard, — not till twelve o'clock yesterday; when the Paulet carriage was again in attendance : but of course there was no guest there ; the guest was advancing by another much less uncomfortable route ! On the whole it was a good luck I did not get into that greasy Whale's Belly (as I call it) ; twenty-four hours there would have reduced me to a precious pickle ! Our journey to Lancaster as I told you was decidedly prosperous, almost pleasant thro' the moonlight country, with plenty to- bacco to smoke ! The wild solitude of Shap Fell at midnight is a thing I really like to have seen. And then the railway yesterday was all the welcomer, and the daylight. At 182 LETTERS OF CARLYLE Carlisle I got myself a pound of tobacco from Irving, so do not fret your heart, dear Mother, about that ! I also took out my old dressing- gown there and wrapt it well round my legs, which was useful. A small proportion of corn, you may tell Jamie, was still in the fields here and there all the way ; but to-day and last night there is a rustling tliuddening North wind which must have dried it. Dr. Carlyle's Dante, which he was very " eager upon," was the prose translation of the Inferno, so well done that many readers have regretted that the translator did not proceed. XXXV. CARLYLE TO HIS MOTHER, SCOTSBRIG. Chelsea, 31 Oct'r, 1845. My dear Mother, — You will take a short word from me rather than none at all, to tell you that we are all struggling along here without disaster ; which indeed is all that is to be told. I write also to see if I can induce you to make use of one of those Letter-covers which I left, and to send me a small line about yourself and how you are. Except one short line from Jamie to the Doc- tor, I have heard nothing at all since I left you. TO HIS MOTHER 183 There has been no rain, or almost none whatever since I left Scotsbrig ; so that, I hope, tho' your weather can hardly have been so favourable, Jamie is now over with his harvest, and fast getting all secured under thatch-and-rope. The Potatoe business, as I learn from the Newspapers, proves very seri- ous everywhere, in Ireland as much as any- where ; and over all Europe there is a rather deficient crop ; besides which, the present distracted railway speculation and general fever of trade is nearly certain to break down soon into deep confusion, so that one may fear a bad winter for the poor, a sad thing to look forward to. They are best off, I think, who have least to do with that brutal Chase for money which afflicts me wherever I go in this country. " Give me neither poverty nor riches, feed me with food convenient for me. Our freedom from rain has not hindered the November fogs from coming in somewhat before their time. The weather is not whole- some, many people have got cold in these late days. I advise you, dear Mother, to put on your winter clothing and be cautious of going out except when the sun is shining. In the morning and evening do not venture 184 LETTERS OF CARLYLE at all. This is the most critical time of all, I believe, these weeks while the change to winter is just in progress. I thought myself extremely well here for a week after my re- turn, and indeed was so and hope again to be so — much improved by my journey, — but last Sabbath, paying no heed to these frost fogs, I caught a little tickling in my nose which rapidly grew into a sniftering, and by the time next day came I had a regular ugly face-ache and fair foundation for cold in all its forms, which required to be energetically dealt with and resisted on the threshold. Next day, accordingly, I kept the house strictly and appealed to medicine and their diet, and so on Wednesday morning I had got the victory again and have been getting round and growing nearer the old point ever since — in fact reckon myself quite well again, except that I take a little care of going out at night &c. Jane has had a little whiff of cold too, but it is abating again. We are taught by these visitations to be upon our guard. The Doctor is quite well, tho' I think he sits too much in the house, being very eager upon his Dante at present. They are not to publish the Cromwell till " the middle of next month " — about a fort- night. TO HIS MOTHER 185 " They are not to publish the Cromwell till < the middle of next month/ " wrote Carlyle in the preceding letter. As a matter of fact the book did not get out until December. Carlyle and his wife did go to the Barings in the middle of November, and the date of the following undated fragment thus swings between the 1st and the 15th of November. Carlyle says here that they were invited to the Grange ; Froude, that Mr. Baring and Lady Harriet were at Bay House, in Hampshire. "Grange" is probably a slip of the pen. XXXVI. CARLYLE TO HIS MOTHER, SCOTSBRIG. Chelsea [1/15 November, 1845]. ... It lies perfectly ready, but the Town is still very empty ; besides they are getting ready a Portrait, the rudiments of which John and I went to see the other day, but did not very much like. I fear it will not turn out much of an ornament to the Book or a true likeness of Oliver ; but we cannot help that. Nor does it very much matter. — For the rest, I am and have been nearly as idle as possible ; merely reading Books, and doing other small etceteras. There is an invitation to go down to the Grange (where I was the other year), for 186 LETTERS OF CARLYLE Jane and me both, " for a few days " (per- haps three) ; but I think it is not certain whether we can accept in such a state of the weather, etc. It will be within the next ten days if at all. We are very quiet here at home ; hardly anybody yet coming about us : and indeed in general it is, the fewer the better, with us. I cannot yet learn with the least distinct- ness whether John is for Scotsbrig or not ; but I continue to think he will after all come down and plant himself there with his Dante for a while. I have fully expressed your wishes to him in regard to that ; and cer- tainly if he do not come it will not be for want of wish to be there. Jenny, I suppose, is home again : all is grown quiet in the upstairs rooms ! My dear good Mother, let us not be sad, let us rather be thankful, — and still hope in the Bounty which has long been so benignant to us. I will long remember your goodness to me at Scotsbrio- on this occasion, and the sadness that is in it I will take as inevitable, — every joy has its sorrow here. . . . If I think of any Carlisle Tobacco I will send word about it in good time ; if I send no word, do not in the least delay about it. TO MES. HANNING 187 " In February, 1846," says Froude, " a new edition was needed of the Cromwell. Fresh letters of Oliver had been sent which required to be inserted according to date ; a process, Carlyle said, ' requiring one's most excellent talent, as of shoe-cobbling, really that kind of talent carried to a high pitch.' " He had ' to unhoop his tub, which already held water,' as he sorrowfully put his case to Mr. Erskine, ' and insert new staves.' " Other editors of letters, before and since, have had such cobbling and coopering to do. XXXVII. CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNING, DUMFRIES. Chelsea, Monday, 29th June, 1846. Dear Jenny, — I heard of your arrival in your new place at Dumfries a day or two ago, and on Saturday I sent you a newspaper which I suppose you will receive this morning. You will understand it as a hasty token that we are in our usual way and still mindful of you, although there has been little express writing of late. No doubt you will feel a little lonely, un- accustomed, and now and then dispirited and anxious in your new situation. Yet I do con- sider it a very fit change for you to have made, and believe confidently you will find yourself 188 LETTERS OF CARLYLE much more comfortable than you have been in your old place, if once you are fairly hafted to the new one. Do not be discouraged, my little Jenny, I know you will behave always in a douce, prudent, industrious and wise way, and there is no fear of you, if so. You will be mistress of your own little heart at any rate, free to follow your own wisest purposes. I think you will gradually find work, too, which may be useful to you. In short this is a fact always, in Maxwell-town and in all towns and situations, — a person that does act wisely will find wise and good results following him in this world and in all worlds ; which really is the comfort of poor struggling creatures here below. And I hope you understand firmly always that you have friends who will never forsake you, whom all considerations bind to help you what they can, in the honest fight you are making. So do not fear, my poor little sister ; be wise and true and dili- gent and do the best you can, and it shall all be well yet, and better than we hope. Getting into a new house, it strikes me, you must find various things defective and not yet in order, so you must take this bit of paper from me which James Aitken, on Wednesday first, will change into three sovereigns for you TO MRS. HANNING 189 — and you must lay them out in furnitures and bits of equipments such as you see need- fullest. I know nobody that could lay them out better and make more advantage of them than you will do, only you want to consider that this is a supernumerary thing, a clear gift, and that your regular income (which John said was to be enlarged — whatever he may have settled it) will arrive at the usual time inde- pendently of this. And so, my blessing with you, dear little Jenny, and right good days to you in this new dwelling, — right wise days, which are the only good ones. I have owed Jean a letter this long: time. Tell her a box of supplements to Cromwell (one for each of you and two new copies of the whole book — one for my mother, the other for Jack) will reach her in a day or two, which she will know how to dispose of. For the rest, I am fast getting through my book, — it is mere tatters of work now, — and ex- pect to be off northward before long. North- ward we do mean ; Jane sometimes talks of being off this week and I to follow in a week or two. To Seaforth, Liverpool, is Jane's first place. I, of course, will soon be across if once there. Good be with you, dear sister. Yours always, T. C. 190 LETTERS OF CARLYLE Do you address the next newspaper to us if this come all right. That will be a sufficient sign to us. XXXVIII. CARLTLE TO MRS. AITK.EN, DUMFRIES. Chelsea, Saturday, 17th October, 1846. Dear Sister, — That letter for the Doctor reached me last night with instructions, as you see, to forward it to you. There is another little one from poor little Jane, which I like still better, but I am ordered to return it to my mother. Alick is going on very tolerably and seems to do as well as one could expect in his new settlement, — somewhat bitter of tem- per yet, but diligent and favoured to see the fruits of his diligence. We are extremely quiet here, not writing, or expressly meditating to write, resting in fact, for I find Chelsea greatly the quietest place I could meet with. This long while I read a great many books of very little value, see almost nobody except with the eye merely, find silence better than speech — sleep better than waking ! My thoughts are very serious, I will not call them sorrowful or miserable; I am getting fairly old and do not want to be younger — I know not whether Jeffrey would call that " happy " or not. TO MRS. AITKEN 191 Our maid Helen is leaving us, invited to be some Housekeeper to a brother she has in Dublin, at present a rich trader there, " all upon float " as I sometimes fear. Jane is busy negotiating about a successor, hopes to get a suitable one from Edinburgh or almost to have got such. You have not written to me. Tell Jenny I will send her some word soon. My kind regards to James. Good be with you and your house, dear Jean. Jane is out, and therefore silent. Ever yours, T. C. Between 1846 and the spring of 1849 Carlyle had made the acquaintance of Louis Blanc, John and Jacob Bright, and Sir Robert Peel. On the 30th of June, 1849, Carlyle started on a journey through Ireland, — the notes of which were printed after his death, — and returned on the 7th of August. He went directly to Scotsbrig, where, " owing to cocks and other blessed fellow-inhabitants of this planet," he was a good deal disquieted. In Scotsbrig he remained, however, till the end of August. 192 LETTERS OF CAELYLE XXXIX. CARLYLE TO MES. HANNESTG, DUMFEIES. Scotsbrig, 18 August, 1849. Dear Sister Jenny, — Here is a Draft for your money, which you will get by presenting that Paper at the Bank, when the Martinmas Term comes ; I wish you much health and good industrious days till the 22nd comes round again; and have done nothing more gladly, I may say, in the payment line than write this little paper for you, ever since the last was written, I think. It gave me very great pleasure to see your neat little Lodging and thrifty, modest, and wise way of life, when we were in Dumfries the other day. The re- ports of all friends agree in testifying to the same effect. Continue so, my good little sister, and fear nothing that can befall. Our out- ward fortune, lucky or what is called unlucky, we cannot command ; but we can command our own behaviour under it, and we do either wisely or else not wisely ; and that, in real truth, makes all the difference, — and does in reality stamp us as either "lucky" or else "un- lucky." For there is nobody but he that acts foolishly and wrong that can, in the end, be called " unlucky ; ' : he that acts wisely and right is, before all mortals, to be accounted TO MRS. HANNING 193 " luckv : " lie and no other than he. So toil honestly along, my dear little Jenny, even as heretofore; and keep up your heart. An elder brother's duty to you, I trust I may promise, you shall never stand in want of while I live in this world. Take the next Courier (which Jean will give you for the purpose) and address it in your own hand to me : " Care of John Fer- gus, M. P. etc., Kirkcaldy," — or in fact if James Aitken write that, it will be all the same, — and I shall need no other sign that you have received this Note and Inclosure safe. You can tell James to send only one Courier that way ; but to direct the other to Scotsbrig till further notice. Our Mother and I got well home on Thurs- day ; the thunder - showers hung and fell heavy on all hands of us ; but we escaped with little damage from them, — got no rain at all till we were on the top of Dodbeck (or rather Daneby) Banks ; which rain was never violent upon us, and had as good as ended altogether by the time we reached the old Gildha Road. Our Mother's new bonnet, or any of her clothes, suffered nothing whatever. There had been great rains here and all the way ; the fields all running brooks, and the 194 LETTEBS OF CABLYLE road-conduits hardly able to contain the loads they had. It was a good deal clearer yester- day ; yet, in the evening, we had again a touch of rain, which I saw was very heavy over in Cumberland. To-day is a degree brisker still, tho' with remnants of thunder- clouds still hanging, so we fancy the " Flood " is about terminating, and the broken weather going to heal itself again. Jamie has some cattle rather suffering by the " epidemic," which, in the last year, has destroyed several ; his bog-hay, too, is of course much wetted ; but he is otherwise getting briskly enough along 1 . You are to tell James Aitken that there is " an excellent spigot ' here already for the water-barrel, so that he need take no farther heed of that, at least, till he hear again. I could not quite handily get packed (owing to Garthwaites tailoring) for this day ; so I put it off till Monday ; and am fixed for that morning (10 a. m.) to be in Edinburgh about one o'clock and over in Kirkcaldy in good time, where Jane, as I conclude, is arrived since yesterday and expects me against the given time. Give my kindest remembrances in Assembly Street ; what our further move- ments from Kirkcaldy are to be, Jean or some TO MRS. HANNING 195 of you will hear in due time. No more at present, dear Sister, with many blessings to you all. Ever your Affectionate Brother, T. Caklyle. In 1850 the Latter-Day Pamphlets were published. In spite of the outcry against them, Carlyle's regular " public " was not dis- turbed. Froude estimates that about three thousand persons were then buying whatever Carlyle printed. He wrote in his Journal during October of the same year : " Four weeks (September) at Scotsbrig : my dear old Mother, much broken since I had last seen her, was a perpetual source of sad and, as it were, sacred emotion to me. Sorrowful mostly and disgusting, and even degrading, were my other emotions. God help me ! " The next letter concerns the departure of Mrs. Hanning to join her husband in Canada. It is the only one in this collection from Mrs. Thomas Carlyle. " Jane " is Carlyle's sister, Jean Aitken, — Jane only by courtesy, he somewhere says. 196 LETTERS OF CARLYLE XL. MRS. THOMAS CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNESTG, DUMFRIES. 5 Cheyne Row, Tuesday [spring of 1851]. My dear Jenny, — I sent off yesterday by railway to Jane's care a bundle of things which I hope may be of some use to you in your preparation for departure. They are not much worth as they are, but you have a great talent — at least you had when I knew you — for making silk purses out of sows' ears, a very valuable talent in this world. For the rest what can I say to you but that I wish you good speed in your great adventure, and that it may turn out even better for you than you hope. Decidedly it is an adventure in which you ought to be let please yourself, to be let follow the guidance of your own heart without remonstrance or criticism of others. It is my fixed opinion that between man and wife no third person can judge, and that all any of us could reasonably require of you is that you should consider well what you are about to do and that you should do nothing from secondary motives. If it be affection for your husband and the idea of doing your duty by him that takes you from your family and friends so far away, then go in God's name, and may your husband prove JANE WELSH CARI.YLE MRS. THOMAS CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNING 197 himself worthy of so much constancy. In any case you will have no cause for self-re- proach. But if it be impatience of your position here which is driving you away from your kind old Mother and all the rest who love you so well, then God help you, my poor Jenny, for you are flinging away all the real blessings of your lot for an imagination of independence. I hope, however, you are quite justified by your feelings towards your husband in leaving all to follow him. You have always seemed to me to cherish a most loyal affection for your husband, and I will never believe, however appearances may be against him, that a man can inspire such an affection in the wife he has lived years beside and yet be wholly unworthy of it. So fare- well, dear Jenny, and God go with you. Affectionately yours, Jane Carlyle. Three months of the late winter and early spring of 1851 had sufficed for writing the life of John Sterling. Julius Hare and the religious newspapers had treated Sterling as a poor stray lamb from the Christian fold. Hare regarded him as "a vanquished doubter ; " Carlyle, as " a victorious believer." 198 LETTERS OF CARLYLE " Here, visible to myself for some while," wrote he, " was a brilliant human presence, dis- tinguishable, honourable, and loveable amid the dim common populations, among the mil- lion little beautiful once more a beautiful human soul, whom I among others recognised and lovingly walked with while the years and the hours were." Carlyle's life of the man whom he thus looked upon came out like a star after the storm of the " Latter-Day Pam- phlets." Full of a kind of shining peace, the work of an artist perturbed by neither con- troversy nor any need of " buffeting his books," the Life of Sterling is one of the very few most beautiful biographies in Eng- lish. XLI. JOHN AITKEN CARLYLE TO MRS. HANGING, HAM- ILTON. Scotsbrig, 27 June, 1851. My dear Jenny, — Mr. Smellie wrote punctually to tell us you had sailed on the 27th of last month exactly according to ap- pointment, and that he had seen you on the day following some twelve miles down the Clyde, having gone to give you a Brooch you had forgotten in his mother's house. He said your berths looked very comfortable, and JOHN AITEEN CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNING 199 spoke of the Clutlia as a tight good ship, every way fit for the voyage. Almost every day since that time we have had westerly winds, and if you have had the same, your oyage is likely to be considerably longer than you anticipated. I hardly know whether to write by this week's post, or wait till next, but it seems best to err on the safe side, for you will expect to find a letter at Hamilton whenever you arrive, and be much disap- pointed if there be none. My writing need not be otherwise than briefly, as we are all going on in much the same way as when you left us. Our Mother has been uneasy when- ever the winds were sounding loud, and once or twice she has taken to bed, but she is now at least as strong as usual and moving about in the old way. She desires me to send her love to yourself and the children, and kindest regards to your husband, and bids you write without delay whenever you get to your home in the far West. We had a note from Dum- fries two days ago, Jean and hers are all well, James as busy as possible with one thing and another. We expect them here next week, and hope Jean will remain a few days. Mary was here on Tuesday last. She is looking stouter than usual and things seem to be a 200 LETTERS OF CARLYLE little more prosperous at the Gill than they have been of late years. I was there very lately along with Jamie, who went to purchase some cattle. From Chelsea we heard yester- day. Tom is busy with his Life of J. Ster- ling 1 , which is now going through the press. He has not yet decided whether we are to expect him here or not this season. There is one of the Miss Welsh's of Liverpool staying with them at Cheyne Row. Little Jamie takes this with him to Annan. I need not add any more except to mention that Mr. Goold had received a letter from your husband to you addressed to his care, a short time after you sailed. I will send you a paper now and then with its two strokes if we continue all well. Our Mother sent a copy of the second edi- tion of Cromwell's Letters to Mr. Smellie, the week after you sailed, and had an acknow- ledgement from him. She wished him to have some memorial from her, for all his kindness to you in looking after your berths, etc., etc. Ever yours affectionately, J. A. Carlyle. The following letter, interesting as it is, TO ALEXANDER CARLYLE 201 jars a little on the homely calm of the series. The Exhibition and the " glass palace " need no explanation. Church and State are still English facts. XLIT. CARLYLE TO ALEXANDER CARLYLE, CANADA. Chelsea, 24 OcCr, 1851. My dear Brother, — About a fortnight ago I wrote to you intimating that I would soon send a copy of a Book called Life of John Sterling, which was just about coming out, and also that I would write soon again. Last week, in good time for the mail, said Life of Sterling did accordingly set out towards you. On enquiring practically I found such a feat was now quite handy. If the Book weighs under one pound, it will go to Canada or from it for a shilling ; if under two pounds and above one, you must pay two shillings, (in stamps always), and so on for other weights. It is an immense conven- ience and I design if I live to make use of it on other occasions on your behalf. If all went right the book will reach you about a week before this present letter, if it do not, write to me and I will take some order in the matter. If it do come rightly you may send me an old newspaper addressed in your hand. 202 LETTERS OF CAELYLE That will be announcement enough for the purpose, and so we have finished this affair of the Book, let us hope. Since I wrote last our "Exhibition" has dissolved itself, all gone or going to the four winds, and on our streets there is a blessed tranquillity in comparison. London is of all the year stillest at this season or a little ear- lier. All one's acquaintances are in the coun- try, two or three hundred thousand of the inhabitants are in the country. Now is the time for a little study, for a little private meditation and real converse with one's self — a thing not to be neglected, however little pleasant it be. The days are getting foggy, a kind of dusky, s£oon/-looking, dry fog, dimmed with much thin reek over and above, not an exhilarating element at all, but it is very quiet comparatively and one ought to be thankful. I often think I will go into the country to live, out of this dirty reek and noise, but I am very feckless for making changes and find all countries (Annandale itself) grown very solitary and questionable to me. " Busy, busy, be busy with thy WO rk : " — let that in the meanwhile suffice as commandment for me. Within the week I have news from Scots- TO ALEXANDER CARLYLE 203 brig. Our dear old Mother was reported well (for her) " better than when I was there." Jack being now with her, that is always a considerable fact in her favor. The good old woman, she can do wonderfully when things go perfectly "straight," but a small matter is now sufficient to over-set her. She can read, the whole day if she have any Book worth reading, and her appetite for reading is not at all sickly or squeamish, but can eagerly welcome almost anything that has, on any subject, a glimmering of human sense in it. Jamie's harvest is well over, a rather superior crop for quality, the quantity about an average, that is the account he gives — and indeed it is the general account of the country this year. Trade is good this year or more back ; so that numbers of the people are or might be well off (tho' I think they mainly waste their superior wages) and huge multitudes of vagrant, distressed wretches are to be found everywhere even now. What will there be when " trade," as it soon will do, takes another turn. Strolling Irish, hawk- ing, begging, doing all kinds of coarse labour, are getting daily more abundant — unhappy beings ! We hear from the Newspapers much absurd talk about the "Millions that have 204 LETTERS OF CABLYLE emigrated to America." Alas, it has been to England and Scotland that they have " emi- grated," as anybody but a Stump Orator or Newspaper Editor might see — and they will prod nee their effects here by and by! — On the whole, dear Brother, you are right happy to have got out of this horrible welter into a quiet garden of your own over the sea. There are times coming here, and rushing on with ever faster speed, though unnoticed by the " glass palace " sages and their followers, such as none of us have ever seen for vio- lence and misery. Church and State and all the arrangements of a rotten society, often seem to me as if they were not worth 20 years' purchase and the thing that will first follow them is nearly certain to be greatly icorse than they. God mend it. We can do nothing for it but try if possible to mind our own work in the middle of it. There came a letter lately from Sister Jenny which reports of you at Bield in a very interesting: and cheering fashion. You are not much changed except (like myself) a little whiter in the hcqyrits. Tom is a stout handy looking fellow, not too tall. Jane a douce tidy lass, in short "you look all very com- fortable on your two farms." We were TO ALEXANDER CABLYLE 205 thankful enough for such a pictorial report, I need not tell you. As to Jenny herself there seem good omens too, and we hope her husband and she may now do well, his follies having" stilled themselves with advance of years. At all events she will be more content than in Dumfries in her old position : there it was clear enough she could not abide much longer. That she is near you on any emer- gency is a great comfort to our Mother and the rest of us. Adieu, dear Brother, I did not mean to write so much to-day, being hurried enough with many things. Jane sends her love to her namesake and to you all. I wish you would buy Tom an American copy of one of my books, (Translation of W. Meister ? No?), and give it him as a memento of me and you, some time when his behaviour is at the best. Assure him, at any rate, of my hearty regard, him and all the household. My blessing with you all. Affectionately, T. Carlyle. By 1851 Carlyle had begun to think seri- ously of Frederick the Great as his next sub- ject, and it soon became evident that he must 206 LETTERS OF CABLYLE walk in whatever footsteps of his hero were still visible. Carlyle reached Rotterdam Septem- ber 1, 1852, at noon, and was there met by Mr. Neuberg, — " a German admirer," says Froude, " a gentleman of good private fortune, resi- dent in London, who had volunteered his ser- vices to conduct Carlyle over the Fatherland, and afterwards to be his faithful assistant in the l Frederick ' biography." Carlyle returned to England in October, but many distrac- tions — among them repairs in Cheyne Row and the funeral of the Duke of Wellington — kept him from starting with Frederick. During the winter he wrote something, and threw it aside. On the 13th of April, 1853, he wrote in his Journal, " Still struggling and haggling about Frederick." There is neither struggling nor haggling, however, in the letter which follows. The " Talbottypes " mentioned here were, like " Daguerreotypes," dim and glimmering pro- phecies of the merciless photograph. xlin. carlyle to mrs. hanning, canada. 5 Cheyne Row, Chelsea, London, 22 Apl. 1853. My dear Jenny, — Though it is a long TO MRS. HANNING 207 time since I have written to you, no mistake can be greater than that I have forgotten you. No, no, there is no danger of that. My memory at least is active enough ! But I live in such a confused whirlpool of hurries here as you can have no conception of, and always in poor weak health, too, and in cor- responding spirits, and for most part when my poor stroke of work for the day is done (if alas, I be lucky enough to get any work done one day in ten, as days now go !) — I have in general nothing for it but to shut up my ugly cellar of confusions and address myself to the task of being silent — writ- ing no letter whatever but those I absolutely cannot help. That is the real truth and you must not measure my regard for you by the quantity I write, but by quite other stand- ard. We regularly see your letters here and are very glad indeed to observe that you get on so well. The fits of ague-fever you had at first were a severe introduction and began to be alarming to us, but I can hope now it was only the hanselling of you in your new cli- mate, and that henceforth you will go on with at least your old degree of health. One thing I have understood to be of great moment 208 LETTERS OF CARLYLE (indeed I am sure of it), in the Canada cli- mate ; it is to take good care that your house be in an airy situation, quite free from the neighbourhood of damp ground, especially of stagnant water, and with a free exposure to the wind. That undoubtedly is of great im- portance. You are accustomed from sound old Annandale to take no thought at all about such things, but you may depend upon it they are necessary and indispensable con- siderations in your new country. I beg you very much to keep them earnestly in view with reference to the house you live in. Plenty of dry wind, all marshes &c. at a dis- tance, and there is no more danger of ague in Canada than in Scotland ; that you shove up your windows in season and keep your house clean as a new pin — these are advices I need not give, for you follow these, of course, of nature or inveterate habit, being from of old one of the neatest little bodies to be found in five Parishes ! In all remaining respects I find you have chosen clearly for the better, and I doubt not are far happier in your re- united household than you ever were or could have been in Dumfries. It was a wise and courageous adventure of you to take the Ocean by the face in search of these objects, TO MBS. HANNING 209 and all your friends rejoice to learn that it has succeeded. Long and richly may you reap the rewards of your quiet, stout and wise behaviour — then and all along, under cir- cumstances that were far from easy to man- age ; and God's blessing be on you always, my poor little Jenny ! I hope, too, poor Robert has learned many a thing and forgot- ten many a thing in the course of his hard fortune and wide wanderings. Give him my best wishes, temporal and spiritual. Help him faithfully what you can, and he (for he has a kind enough heart) will do the like by you — and so we hope all will be better with you both than it is with many, and continue to grow better and better to the end. I recommend myself to the nice gleg little lasses whom I shall not forget, but always think of as little, however big they grow. My bless- ing on you all. No doubt you know by eyesight whom these two Talbottypes represent ; mine is very like — Jane's (done by a different pro- cess) is not quite so like, but it will serve for remembrance. I begged two pairs of them awhile ago and had one sent to Alick [Jane slightly different in his set), the other pair I now send to you and wish only it were some 210 LETTERS OF CARLYLE usefuller gift. However, they will eat no bread and so you may give them dry lodging, that is all they want. I heard from the Dr. at Moffat the day before yesterday. He reports our good old Mother being in her usual way and now with the better prospect of summer ahead. Poor Mother, she is now very feeble, but her mind is still all there and we should be thankful. The rest are well. John is to quit Moffat in July. Jane sends her kind regards. The White mat on Jane's lap is her wretched little messi?i-dog " Nero ; " a very unsuccess- ful part of the drawing, that ! XLIV. CAKLTLE TO MRS. HAISTNING, CANADA. Scotsbrig, Ecclefechan, 28 Dec. 1853. My dear Sister, — This letter brings very sorrowful news to you, probably the sorrow- fullest I may ever have to send from Scots- brig. Our dear and good old Mother is no more : she went from us, gently and calmly at last, on the Sunday just gone (Christmas Day the 25th) at four or ten minutes past four in the afternoon : The Dr., Jean, Isa- bella, Jamie, and I standing in sorrowful rev- erence at her bed-side ; our poor suffering Mother had lain in a heavy kind of sleep for TO MRS. HANNING 211 about 16 hours before ; and died at last, rather unexpectedly to the watchers, so sud- den was it, without struggle or seeming pain of any kind. We had to think " Her suffer- ings are over ; and she has fought her fight well and nobly ; and as for us, — we are left here alone ; and the soul that never ceased to love us since we came into the world, is gone to God, her Maker and ours." This is the heavy news I have to send you, dear Sister ; and nobody can spare you the sorrow and tears it will occasion. For above a year-and- a-half past, our dear Mother had been visibly falling fast away ; when I saw her in August gone a year, her weakness and sufferings were quite painful to me ; and it seemed uncertain whether we should ever meet again in this scene of things. She had no disease at that time nor afterwards, but the springs of life were worn out, there was no strength left. Within the last six months the decay pro- ceeded faster and was constant : she could not much rise from bed ; she needed Mary and Jean alternately to watch always over her, — latterly it was Jean alone (Mary not being strong enough) ; and surely Jean has earned the gratitude of us all, and done a work that was blessed and beautiful, in so 212 LETTERS OF CARLYLE standing by her sacred task, and so perform- ing it as she did. There has been no regular sleep to "her for months past, often of late weeks and days not much sleep of any kind : but her affectionate patience, I think, never failed. I hope, though she is much worn out, she will not permanently suffer : and surely she will not want her reward. Our noble Mother too behaved like herself in all stages of her illness ; never quailed into terror, lamentation or any weak temper of mind ; had a wonderful clearness of intellect, clear- ness of heart, affection, piety and simple courage and beauty about her to the very end. She passed much of her time in the last weeks in a kind of sleep ; used to awaken "with a smile" (as John described it to me), and has left a sacred remembrance with all of us consolatory in our natural grief. I have written to Alick this day, a good many other details, and have bidden him send you the letter (which is larger and fuller than this), — as you probably in asking for it will send this to him. I am in great haste, to- morrow (Thursday 29th Dec.) being the fune- ral day, and many things occupying us still. I will therefore say no more here ; your little pieces of worldly business will, I hope, be TO MRS. HANNING 213 satisfactorily and easily adjusted before I return to Chelsea, and then it will be some- body's task (John's or mine) to write to you again. For the present I will only bid, God bless you, dear sister, you and* yours ; — and teach you to bear this great sorrow and bereavement (which is one chiefly to your heart, but to her a blessed relief) in the way that is fit, and worthy of the brave and noble Mother we have had, but have not any longer. Your affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. With a few days excepted, the Carlyles spent the whole of the year 1854 in London. There was little but the Crimean war to dis- tract Carlyle's attention from his long strug- gle with Frederick. Early in this year was completed the much talked of " sound-proof room," of which the best account is given by Mr. Reginald Blunt, in his little-known book, " The Carlyles' Chel- sea Home." " The arrangement of this room, which was built in 1853, occupied by Carlyle till 1865, and afterwards used as a servant's bedroom, is clearly indicated on the plan ; whilst Mr. 214 LETTERS OF CARLYLE Tait's photographs (taken in 1857) give an excellent record of its aspect. Indeed, it is not often that so famous a literary workshop has been so faithfully depicted for posterity. The spacious skylight, which drove Carlyle to despair by besrnutting his books and papers, gave his visitor the abundant light which in- door photography so often lacks, and the result is a series of pictures of wonderful interest. Mr. Tait was good enough to in- trust the negatives to me to make my own prints ; and it was, indeed, a fascinating em- ployment to resuscitate, by a few minutes of exposure to light, these speaking records of the dead past of nearly forty years ago. By their aid we have little difficulty in men- tally reconstituting the c soundless room ' as it was during Carlyle' s ' thirteen years' war ' there. Entering by the door at the head of the staircase (a second door opens into the cupboard space, though for what reason, un- less to provide a means of escape, is not obvi- ous), one finds immediately to one's right hand a third door into this same closet. Beyond it, against the partition wall, stood a half-round table with an oilcloth cover, carry- ing books and papers ; above it hung a small portrait of Carlyle's mother, an engraving of THE SOUND-PROOF ROOM 215 Frederick on horseback, and a map, pinned on the wall, unframed. On the north wall, to the right of the fireplace, shelved cup- boards were fitted. Over the square white marble mantelpiece, with its ' merely human ' fireplace and white-tiled sides, hung several small sketches and engravings around the wooden pulley-board, to which were attached the lines for the sliding-shutter and the venti- lators. On the left of the fire, above a circu- lar silk-pleated screen, hung a paper rack and some written notes on Friedrich, probably chronological. On the mantel stood two white china candlesticks and a small bronze statuette of Napoleon. In the further corner, to the left of the fireplace, was a high up- right cabinet with drawers for manuscripts, prints, etc. ; and on the western wall there were bookshelves to right and left of the door leading into the closet behind the par- tition. "Against the southern wall stood a low couch with loose leather mattress ; while the eastern side, from the corner to the door, was occupied by a long, dwarf, three-tiered book- shelf, the upper half of which was filled with the works of Voltaire, in over ninety vol- umes. Maps, prints, and engravings, relating 216 LETTERS OF CARLYLE almost exclusively to the ' Life of Frederick the Great,' covered the available wall space ; and in one corner stood the long hooked pole by which the balanced frames of the skylight could be opened and closed. Near the fireplace, a little to the left, was the place of the famous writing-table on which so much of noble work had painf ill birth. The photograph gives so exact an impression of its sturdy frame, its broad folding flap, its slightly boxed top, and back drawers, that no further description is needed either of it or the solid writing-chair. Hard by stood an- other little table on castors, which carried the books in immediate use (or such as were not on the floor !), while behind was the fourfold screen on which were pasted near a hundred old portrait prints, to which the maker of history always turned for insight and guid- ance in depicting his characters. " When Carlyle gave up the use of this room, after the completion of his great his- tory, the pictures, books, and furniture were dispersed elsewhere about the house, and later visitors will remember the writing-desk as standing in the drawing-room, the cabinet of drawers and little table in the dining-room, and many of the prints in the hall, staircase, MARGARET A. CARLVLE Carlyle's Mother TO MRS. HANNING 217 and elsewhere, as indicated in the Picture List appended." The 30th of September is given by Pro- fessor Norton as the date of Margaret Car- lyle's birth, which was evidently unknown to her children when the following letter was written : — XLV. CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNING, HAMILTON, C. W. Chelsea, 8 April, 1855. Dear Sister, — I know not if you ever saw our lamented Mother's portrait which was done at Dumfries a good many years ago. It hangs in my room ever since, and has been very sad but precious company to me, as you may fancy, ever since the Christ- mas day of 1853 ! I have got seven copies taken of it (done by the machine they call photograph), and this is the one that falls to your share. I can well believe it will be very sad to you, dear little sister, but sacred, too, and very precious. You can easily get it framed in some modest cheap way ; it may lie in the cupboard secure from dust till then. The birthday, " 30th Sept.," was not quite certain ; Roodfair in the year 1771 was held on the " 25th of Sept.," and 218 LETTERS OF CARLYLE whether it was the " Monday after," or the " Monday before ' : (which would be 23rd Sept.), there was diversity of recollection. I myself and, I think, Jane inclined to think " after ; " Jean thought rather the other way : so no date was put upon the Tombstone, — but perhaps you yourself have a better re- membrance of what our Mother used to say on that point? Alas, we cannot settle it now, nor is that the important thing we have lost hold of in the change that has happened to us all ! But let us not lament ; it is far from our part to lament ; let us try rather to bless God for having had such a Mother, and to walk always while in this world as she would have wished we might do. Amen, Amen. There has been nothing wrong since the Doctor's sad loss. Jane and I, in particular, have not been worse than usual, though I think it was the severest winter I ever ex- perienced (certainly far the worst I ever saw here), and has lasted, indeed, almost up to this time — " real spring weather " being yet hardly a week old with us. Sister Jean at Dumfries got a bad whitlow in one of her fingers ; and the thrice unlucky blockhead of a Doctor she got there, cut away three TO MBS. HANNING 219 times over some white substance he saw, which proved to be the sinew (sorrow on the fool), so that she has now no use of her (right hand) forefinger, though otherwise quite recovered again. She has learned to write with the next finger and makes no com- plaint. The Doctor is here for sometime back, and I think may likely enough continue awhile, and perhaps draw hither as his main place. He lodges only about a mile off nearest the town, so I see him very often — almost every day in fact. He is very quiet, patiently com- posed, reads Books, writes letters, runs about ; is chiefly occupied hitherto about his late wife's affairs, and the three boys (from 12 to 16) whom she left, who are all there stay- ing with him (for a week or two) just now. Jane is pretty well, for her, and sends her kind remembrances to " little Jenny." I am very busy with work, but making hardly any way in it. Give my best wishes to Robert and the two little lassies whom I remember so well. Send me your own address (without " Gunn," etc., in it) when you write next. And fare right well, dear sister Jenny. I am, your affectionate brother, T. Carlyle. 220 LETTERS OF CARLYLE In May, 1857, Lady Ashburton died. Both as Lady Harriet Baring and as Lady Ashburton, she had been a friend to Carlyle but a cause of much unhappiness to his wife. Many years after her death Carlyle said of her, " She was the greatest lady of rank I ever saw, with the soul of a princess and cap- tainess had there been any career possible to her but that fashionable one." Carlyle made a second tour in Germany, in August, 1857, for the purpose of visiting Frederick's battle-fields. In September of the next year the first volumes of the book were published. In December Lord Ash- burton married again, and the new Lady Ashburton became a fast friend to both Carlyles. XLVI. CARLYLE TO MRS. HANTNTNG, HAMILTON, C. W. Chelsea, London, 7th January, 1859. Dear Jenny, — I got your letter acknow- ledging receipt of the Book ; I have more than once got news of you that were welcome since I wrote last, though in general I tried to make some other of our kinsfolk give you notice. Indeed I have been inexpressibly busy for months and for years — with that frightful Book, and other burdens that lay TO MRS. HANNING 221 heavy on me. I have in general lived per- fectly alone, working all day with what strength remained to so grey a man, then rushing out into the dusk to ride for a couple of hours, then home again to Books, etc. It was seldom that I had leisure to write the smallest note. Indeed, I wrote none except upon compulsion — and never wrote so few in the same length of time on any terms before. I am again busy at the two remain- ing volumes, almost as busy and miserable as ever, but I cannot go on thinking of you (as you need not doubt I have often enough done) without sometime or other writing, and here has the time at last come by an effort of my own. You must take this enclosed Paper to some Bank (John says " Any Bank in Canada will do," and " perhaps even give a pre- mium "), the Bank will change it into Can- ada money (with or without "premium"), and my little Jenny is to accept it as a small New Year's Gift from her Brother. That is all the practical part of this present letter. My blessings conveyed aloud with it, if they could be of any avail, are known to you I hope always without writing. Your Messenger, a very honest looking 222 LETTERS OF CARLYLE young man, called with the photographs of the two bairns whom I could hardly recog- nize, such strapping Hizzies were they grown ; this is a long while since. I carried the photographs into Annandale with me, where also they were interesting. Mary at the Gill now has them, I believe. Give my affection- ate remembrances to the originals whom I always remember as little bairns, though they are now grown big. May a blessing be on them, whatever size they grow to ; and may their lot be that of good and honourable women, useful in their day and generation, and a credit to those connected with them. I am very glad to hear what you say of your household, and judge that you are doing well, tho' not so rich as some are. A little money before one's hand is very useful, but much is not needed. It is written " the hand of the diligent" does find chances, and "maketh rich," or rich enough. Give my best wishes to your Husband — my best encouragements to persevere in well doing. The D r - was here a while ago ; but he is off to Annandale again. He has four step- sons, (children of his late wife,) who form his main employment in late years and give him much writing and running about, with TO MBS. HANNING 223 their schooling and affairs. The Austins, it was settled lately, are to stay in the Gill for another seven years, which we were very glad of. Scotsbrig and the other farmers are prosperous — a good time for farmers owing to new railways (I think), and Californian gold, which are resources that will not last for ever. Jean and hers are well. Her eldest son Jamie is, since some months, a clerk in a good mercantile house here and does very well. The Doctor his uncle pro- cured him the place. My Jane has been very weakly for two winters past, but is a little stauncher this winter ; a great blessing to us. I sent some books the other day to Alick's Tom ; to Alick's self there went a Frederick at the same time as yours, but I have heard yet nothing of it, tho' I persuade myself it, too, is safe. My love to them by the first opportunity. God bless you all. T. Carlyle. XLVII. CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNING, HAMILTON, C. W. Chelsea, London, 30 April, 1860. Dear Sister Jenny, — I have twice had a Newspaper from you lately, the last time only two days ago ; and I am always glad to see such a mark of your remembrance, 224 LETTERS OF CARLYLE and understand by it that things are going tolerably well with you, or at least not going far out of course. I would write oftener, and I hope to do so by and by ; but at present I am kept at such a press as you have not the least idea of ; and, for months and indeed years past, I have had almost to cease corresponding with everybody; and have not, except upon compulsion, written the smallest Note, — every moment of my time being so taken up with another dismal kind of " writing " which I cannot shirk. It is of no use afflicting you with complaints of what you cannot help, or with pity for me which could do no good, but the truth is I never had in all my life such a frightfully undoable disgusting piece of work as this which has been reserved for the end of my strength, and it has made and makes me now and for years back miserable till I see it done. I stick to it like death and it shall not beat me if I can help it. No more of it here, — nothing of it, except to explain my silence ; within a couple of years, if I live so long, I hope to be much more in case for correspondence with those whom I merely think of with affection, as times are. To-day I have done a little thing which has TO MRS. HANNING 225 been among my purposes for some time, namely, got a small memorial ready for you — which so soon as you have read this note you can go and ask for and so conclude. For the paper of the Messrs. Coutts, Bankers, I conclude, will go in the same steamer as this Note and all will be ripe by the time you have done reading. You are to go to the " Bank of Upper Canada," Hamilton, to say you are " Mrs. Janet Hanning " and that there is £10 for you from "Mr. Thomas Carlyle, London " — upon which they will hand it out and so end. It is a great plea- sure to me, dear little Jenny, to think of your getting this poor fairing from me, and stitching up for yourself here and there a loose tack with it — as I know you well understand how to do. Do not trouble your- self writing ; address me a newspaper in your own hand and put one stroke on it, that will abundantly tell me whatever is to be said. Your kindred here and in Scotland are all in their usual course. Nothing wrong with any of them, or nothing to speak of. My own poor Jane has by accident hurt her side a little the other day, which annoys her for the present, but we are promised a " perfect cure in less than four weeks." 226 LETTERS OF CARLYLE The new year took the Carlyles to the Grange again. " Everybody," Carlyle wrote, " as kind as possible, especially the lady. This party small and insignificant ; nobody but ourselves and V enables, an honest old dish, and Kingsley, a new, of higher preten- sions, but inferior flavour." Visits in general, however, were rarer than ever in these years of " Frederick," to which every possible moment was devoted. Even Carlyle's letters to his kindred had grown fewer. XLVIII. CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNING, HAMILTON, C. W. Chelsea, London, 28 Feb'y, 1861. Dear Jenny, — The enclosed bit of paper has lain here for some days back, in the hope that I might find leisure to write you a couple of words along with it. With or without leisure, I had determined to send it to-day, (Friday, which is our American post day), but last night your pleasant little note from Hamilton arrived and that naturally quick- ened my determination. No man in all the world has less time than I, for these many months past and to come, and I write no notes at all unless like this in strictly excep- tional cases. TO MBS. HANNINQ 227 Your account of your laying out the last little New Year's gift is touching and beauti- ful to me. I know you are a thrifty, gleg creature and wise thrift is becoming; much a rarity in our time. The image of your tidy household and of the valiant battle you are fighting far away is worth many pounds to me. If the pinch become sharp at any time, fear not to apply to me. I know you are a proud little soul and somewhat disdain not to do your own turn yourself. All this is right : — nevertheless I expressly tell you (and pray don't neglect it), " send me word when the pinch threatens to be sharp " — which I hope it will not be, only if it is at any time observe what I say and mean here. We are getting very feckless, Jane and I — partly by advancing years, partly, (in my own case), by such an unutterable quagmire of a job in which I have been labouring for about 10 years — and have still at least one year of it ahead if I live. Want of sleep, I believe, is the latest form of illness with me, latest and most frightful : — but I try to dodge it and have still (in secret) a surpris- ing toughness in me for my years. Hope is rising too as the hideous months of a job done at last visibly diminish. 228 LETTERS OF CARLYLE All the kindred in Scotland are well — under date three or four days ago. The Dr. is spending this winter in Edinburgh : — has still no hearth of his own but lives in lodg- ings, shifting about. Jean and her affairs are prosperous, thinking of " buying a house" &c. Jamie, her oldest boy, is a very douce, well-doing clerk in the City here for two years past or more. Young Jamie of Scots- brig, owing to health, had to give up that and is now with his father thinking to be a farmer. Times are good with them at Scots- brig, though our poor brother Jamie is in weak health and silently feels his " hervist endit." Poor fellow ! still I send my good wishes heartily to your good Robert. I am always, dear little Jenny, Your truly affectionate, T. Carlyle. In April, 1861, Carlyle went to hear Rus- kin's lecture on "Leaves;'' and in August, 1862, highly praised to Erskine the same writer's " Unto this Last." April 29, 1863, Carlyle wrote thus of one of Dickens's readings : " I had to go yesterday to Dickens's Reading, 8 p. m. Hanover Rooms, to the complete upsetting of my evening habi- TO MBS. HANNING 229 tudes and spiritual composure. Dickens does do it capitally, such as it is ; acts better than any Macready in the world ; a whole tragic, comic, heroic theatre visible, performing under one hat, and keeping us laughing — in a sorry way, some of us thought — the whole night. He is a good creature, too, and makes fifty or sixty pounds by each of these readings." Carlyle's unfortunate horse, mentioned in the following letter, was Fritz. He was sold for nine pounds. Lady Ashburton supplied a successor, whom Carlyle called Noggs. XLIX. CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNING, HAMILTON, C. W. Chklsea, London, 13 Aug. 1863. Dear Sister Jenny, — It is a lono; time since I have had on hand to send you the little bit of remembrance marked on the other page, but I am held in such a ferment of per- petual hurry and botheration here and have grown so weak and weary of my sad work, (till it do end), that I have seldom five minutes to dispose of in my own way, and leave many little jobs undone for a long time and many little satisfactions unenjoyed for want of a bold stroke at them. Finally I bethought me of the Dr. in Edinburgh and he has now got me your little paper into readiness for sending. 230 LETTERS OF CARLYLE I understand you have nothing to do but pre- sent it at the Bank and at once get payment. If, (till you have time to write a long letter of news, which will be very welcome), you at once address me a Canada newspaper with three strokes, nothing more will be necessary in regard to this little bit of business. I expect to get done with my book in six or eight months. that I saw the day ! I can and have been working thitherward with all the strength that I possess, to the hurt of my health as well, but I calculate when the end have once come I shall begin directly to improve more or less, and perhaps by degrees get very considerably better again. I had an excellent horse who had carried me 7 years and above twenty thousand miles, his hoofs were got spoiled on the stone hard roads. He came plunging down with me one day, (not throwing me nor hurting me in the slightest), — a most decided fall for no reason what- ever — upon which I had to sell him (to a kind master for an old song), and for the last six weeks have been walking, which was a great enjoyment by way of change. It would not do, however, and since about a week I am mounted ^again : — very swift, very rough (in comparison to my old friend), but good TO MRS. HANNING 231 natured, healthy, willing : — and must con- tinue adding a dozen miles daily to the twenty thousand already done. We have had such a winter for ivarmth as was never seen before, not very healthy, I be- lieve, but it has agreed well with Jane: — and indeed the kindred, I think, are all well. Poor " Wullie Carlyle " (if you remember him at all) died lately at Edinburgh, an old man, as we are all growing hereabouts. Tell Alick about my affairs and this last news you have had. That I never do or can forget him, he need not be told. I hope your lasses are doing well and that Robert and all of you are pushing along patiently, faithfully as heretofore. In August, 1863, Mrs. Carlyle fell in St. Martin's Lane and broke her thigh. The accident resulted in long illness and pain. During the spring of 1864 she grew worse, and in March was taken to St. Leonards. From a subsequent trip to Scotland she re- turned in October to Cheyne Row, " weak, shattered, body worn to a shadow, spirit bright as ever." The last volume of " Frederick " was pub- lished in April, 1865. When the proofs were 232 LETTERS OF CARLYLE finished, Carlyle and his wife went to Devon- shire for a few weeks with Lady Ashburton. L. CARLYLE TO MRS. HAJSTNING, HAMILTON, C. W. Chelsea, 4 May, 1865. Dear Jenny, — Two or three days ago, I saw a letter from you to Sister Jean ; which was very welcome here, as bringing more defi- nite news of you than we had got for a good while before. I have now got done with my Book (a copy of it probably in your hands before this) ; and am not henceforth to be so dreadfully hampered in writing a little note to my friends from time to time. I am still in a huge fuss, confusions of all kinds lying about me, and indeed I am just about running off for Scotland (to Jean's, in the first place), to try and recover a little from the completely shattered state these twelve years of incessant drudgery and slaving have reduced me to. But there is something I had meant, this long time and here it is — just come to hand. In- closed is a Paper which will bring you the amount of Dollars for <£20, on your present- ing it at the Hamilton Bank. If by way of "identifying" they ask you who sends the money, you can answer with my name, and if further needful, add that the Negotiator for TO MBS. BANNING 233 me with the Edinr. Bank, was Dr. Carlyle of that City. Nothing more, I suppose, if even that much will be necessary. Let me know by return that it is safe in your hand (a news- paper with three strokes will serve if you are short of time for the moment). And so with my best blessings, dear little Jenny, accept this poor mark of my remembrance. My Jane is very frail and feeble, but always stirring about, and has got blessedly away out of the horrible torments she had (and all of you had on her account) last year. Scotsbrig, Gill, Dumfries, Edinburgh ; all is going in the usual average way there. To you I can fancy what a distress the removal of your poor little Mary and her Husband to the Far West must be ! These things happen and are inevitable in the current of life. That your son-in-law is a good man, this should be a great joy to you. Do not you be too hasty to follow to Iowa ; consider it well first. You see what a shaky hand I have ; you do not see the bitter hurry I am still in ! With kindest wishes to you and all your household, Ever your Affectionate Brother, T. Carlyle. Carlyle was elected Lord Rector of the Uni- 234 LETTERS OF CAELYLE versity of Edinburgh in November, 1865 ; and on April 2, 1866, spoke his inaugural address at Edinburgh, of which the best account known to me — best for a general impression of Carlyle — is that given by Mr. Moncure Conway. On the 21st of April the news of Mrs. Carlyle's sudden death was brought to Carlyle at his sister's house in Dumfries. The epitaph which he wrote for her grave in the abbey church of Haddington ends with the words, " And the light of his life as if gone out." An episode of the time when that light was fading will remain longer with some of us than most of the occurrences of Carlyle's life. Mrs. Oliphant has left a sketch, done with very few lines, of Mrs. Carlyle playing Scotch airs " to the tall old man in his dressing-gown, sitting meditative by the fire." Carlyle himself, in his Journal for December 3, 1867, described the last of these occasions : " One evening, I think in the spring of 1866, we two had come up from dinner and were sitting in this room, very weak and weary creatures, perhaps even I the wearier, though she far the weaker ; I at least far the more inclined to sleep, which directly after dinner was not good for me. ' Lie on the sofa there,' said she — the ever " THE LIGHT OF HIS LIFE" 235 kind and graceful, herself refusing to do so — ' there, but don't sleep/ and I, after some superficial objecting, did. In old years I used to lie that way, and she would play the piano to me : a long series of Scotch tunes which set my mind finely wandering through the realms of memory and romance, and effectually pre- vented sleep. That evening I had lain but a few minutes when she turned round to her piano, got out the Thomson Burns book, and, to my surprise and joy, broke out again into her bright little stream of harmony and poesy, silent for at least ten years before, and gave me, in soft tinkling beauty, pathos, and melody, all my old favourites : ' Banks and Braes,' ' Flowers of the Forest,' i Gilderoy,' not for- getting ' Duncan Gray,' l Cauld Kail,' ' Irish Coolen,' or any of my favourites tragic or comic. . . . That piano has never again sounded, nor in my time will or shall. In late months it has grown clearer to me than ever that she had said to herself that night, 'I will play his tunes all yet once,' and had thought it would be but once. . . . This is now a thing infi- nitely touching to me. So like her ; so like her. Alas, alas ! I was very blind, and might have known better how near its setting my bright sun was." 236 LETTERS OF CARLYLE The following letter is shadowed with the death of Mrs. Carlyle, although nearly two years had passed. LI. CARLYLE TO MRS. HANNING, HAMILTON, C. W. Chelsea, 14