young men of the Universities, of the law profession, all sitting quite mum there, and the Annandale voice gollying at them. Very strange to consider. They proposed giving me a dinner, some of them, but I declined it. Literary Institutions' more than one expressed a desire that I would lecture for them, but this also (their wages being small and their lectures generally despicable) I decline. My health did not suffer so much as I had reason to dread. I was awaking at three in the morning when the thing began, but afterwards I got to sleep till seven, and even till eight, and did not suffer nearly so much. I am no doubt shaken and stirred up considerably into a 'raised' state which I like very ill, but in a few days I shall get still enough, and probably even too still. One must work either with long moderate pain or else with short great pain. The short way is best according to my notion.

As usual, the first thought with Carlyle when in possession of his riches' was to send a present to Scotsbrig. He enclosed 5l. to his mother, to be divided among his sisters and herself, a sovereign to each. They were to buy bonnets with it, or any other piece of finery, and call them The Lecture.' On July 27 he wrote at length to his brother John.

Chelsea: July 27, 1838.

The lectures terminated quite triumphantly. Thank Heaven! It seems pretty generally expected that I am to lecture next year again, and subsequent years, having, as they say, made a new profession for myself. If dire famine drive me, I must even lecture, but not otherwise. Whoever he may be that wants to get into the centre of a fuss, it is not I. Freedom under the blue skv-ah me!-with a bit of brown bread and peace and pepticity to eat it with, this for my money before all the glory of Portman Square, or the solar system itself. But we must take what we can get and be thankful. After the lectures came a series of dinner-work and racketings; came hot weather, coronation uproars, and at

length sleeplessness, collapse, inertia, and at times almost the feeling of nonentity. I like that existence very ill; my nerves are not made for it. I corrected a few proof sheets. I read a few books, dull as Lethe. I have done nothing else whatever that I could help, except live. Frequently a little desire for some travel, a notion that change of scene and objects would be wholesome, has come upon me; but in my condition of absolute imbecility, especially in the uncertainty we stood in as to your movements, nothing could be done. The weather has now grown cool. I find it tolerable enough to lounge at Chelsea for the time. My digestion is very bad; I should say, however, that my heart and life is on the whole sounder than it was last year. Now, too, all is getting very quiet; streets quite vacant within these two weeks. I am not like to stir from this unless driven. As for Jane, she is much improved; indeed, almost well since summer came. She does not wish to stir from her quarters at all.

The Americans are getting out Carlyle's miscellanies.' I know not whether I shall not import two hundred copies or so of this edition and save myself the trouble of editing here. The matter is as good as obsolete to me. There is no bread or other profit in it. The Swedenborgians have addressed a small book and letters to me here. The New Catholics are making advances. Jane says I am fated to be the nucleus for all the mad people of my generation.

John Sterling wanted me to accept a dinner from some Cambridge men, then to go with him to Cambridge for three days, then to &c. &c. ; lastly, to go this same week down to Julius Hare's and bathe in the sea. The sea was tempting. Hare too, whom I have seen, is a likeable kind of man. But vis inertia prevailed, and to this, as to all the rest, I answered: 'Impossible, dear Sterling.' Indeed, John is dreadfully locomotive since his return. Some verses printed in Blackwood, and a considerable bluster of Wilson's about them, have sorrowfully discomposed our poor John, and proved what touchy and almost flimsy stuff there must be in him. I love him as before, but keep rather out of his way at present.

Mill is plodding along at his dull Review under dull

auspices, restricts himself to the Fox Taylor circle of Socinian Radicalism-a lamed cause at this time-and very rarely shows face here. His editor, one Robertson, a burly Aberdeen Scotchman of seven-and-twenty, full of laughter, vanity, pepticity, and hope, amuses me sometimes considerably more. He 'desires exceedingly that I would do something for the October number.' My desire that way is faint indeed. How many things in this world do not smell sweet to me! To how many things is one tempted to say with slow emphasis, Du Galgenaas!' (Thou gallows-carrion). There is some relief to me in a word like that. But pauca verba, as Nym has it. I told all the people in those lectures of mine that no speech ever uttered or utterable was worth comparison with silence. John Sterling in particular could not understand it in the least, but has it still sticking in him indigestible.

Your affectionate brother,
T. CARLYLE.

CHAPTER VI.

A.D. 1838-9. ET. 43-44.

Visit to Kirkcaldy-Sees Jeffrey- Sartor '-Night at ManchesterRemittances from Boston-Proposed article on Cromwell-Want of books-London Library-Breakfast with Monckton Milnes— Third course of Lectures-Chartism-Radicalism-Correspondence with Lockhart-Thirlwall-Gift of a horse-Summer in Scotland -First journey on a railway.

CARLYLE'S annual migrations were like those of Mrs. Primrose from the blue room to the brown-from London to Scotland. Thither almost always, seldom anywhere else. He had meant to stay all through the summer in Chelsea, but an invitation from his friends, the Ferguses at Kirkcaldy, tempted him, and in the middle of August he went by Leith steamer to the old place where he had taught little boys, and fallen in love with Miss Gordon, and rambled with Edward Irving. It was melodiously interesting,' he said. He bathed on the old sands. He had a horse which carried him through the old familiar scenes. While at Kirkcaldy he crossed to Edinburgh and called on Jeffrey.

He sat waiting for me at Moray Place. We talked long in the style of literary and philosophic clitter-clatter. Finally it was settled that I should go out to dinner with him at Craigcrook, and not return to Fife till the morrow. At the due hour I joined the Duke at his town house,

The Carlyle name for Jeffrey was Duke of Craigcrook.

and we walked out together as in old times. The Empsons were still there. Mrs. Jeffrey and they welcomed me all alone. The evening was not, on the whole, equal to a good solitary one. The Duke talked immensely, and made me talk; but it struck me that he was grown weaker. We seemed to have made up our minds not to contradict each other; but it was at the expense of saying nothing intimate. My esteem for Jeffrey could not hide from me that at bottom our speech was, as I said, clatter. In fact, he is becoming an amiable old fribble, very cheerful, very heartless, very forgettable and tolerable.

6

After a week or two in Fife he made for Scotsbrig, where news met him that 50l. had been sent from America as a royalty on the edition of the French Revolution,' and that more would follow. What a touching thing is that!' he said. One prays that the blessing of him that was rather ill off may be with them, these good friends. Courage! I feel as if one might grow to be moderately content with a lot like

mine.'

To Jane Welsh Carlyle.

Scotsbrig: September 15, 1838. Many thanks for those bright little letters you sent me. They are the liveliest of letters, which gives me pleasure, because it shows a lively Goody, cheerful and well. They send good news otherwise too, and seem to have the faculty of finding good news to send. Our mother charges me to thank you most emphatically for your letters to her, which made her as light as a feather all day.' She says, 'Whatever sort of mother-in-law she be, you are the best of daughtersin-law.' Such a swift-despatching little Goody! Drive about while you can, and keep your heart light, and be well when

I come.

At Edinburgh I wanted a copy of Sartor,' 'poor beast!' They had got no copy, had never heard of it, and only then wrote off for some. Depend on it, therefore, my bonny