CHAPTER VI.

A.D. 1838-9. ÆT. 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 MilnesThird 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.

one.

LETTERS FROM HOME.

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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 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.

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 send 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 what 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

little Bairn, all these vague things they tell thee about 'Sartor' are mere vague blarney; and think further that we will not care a straw whether they are or not. No. A certain fair critic long ago, among the peat bogs, declared 'Sartor'' to be a work of genius;' and such it is, and shall continue, though no copy of it should sell these hundred years. Alick is not altogether right yet, but much better than formerly. His traffic prospers beyond what could be looked for, and he seems more quieted, reconciled to his allotment. . . . It gives me the strangest feeling to plump suddenly into view of these conditions of existence-hearts so kind, a lot so sequestered, the sweep of Time passing on in these little creeks too, as on the wide sea where I have to navigate. One can say nothing; one's heart is full of unutterabilities. But on the whole life is all great and unutterable; the little Ecclefechan shop, as the grand Napoleon Empire, is embosomed in eternity; a little dream and yet a great reality, one even as the other. Adieu, dear life partner! dear little Goody of me. Be well, and love me.

Thine,

T. CARLYLE.

To the Same.

Scotsbrig: September 27, 1838. MacDiarmid' has faithfully paid me nine sovereigns for you for Puttock, which coins I have, or will account for. He has not succeeded well this year for the letting of Puttock, but has a better outlook for a near future. A colonel somebody, of Mabie, has the house and game this season, at the easy rate of 4., there being no game. But he will preserve the game this year, and in future years give 10l., and perhaps plague us less about it. As for Goody, she, with MacDiarmid's instalments in her pocket, will really be in funds for the present, able to bind Revolution' books and what not-considering the savings bank, too-according to her own sweet will. Nay, there are other funds too, I guess-a letter from your mother, unrefusable, but which seemed to me to hold cash-a truly monied Goody. I saw Burns's house;

...

1 Agent for Craigenputtock.

A NIGHT AT MANCHESTER.

147

the little oblique-angled hut, where the great soul had to adjust itself, and be a king without a kingdom. It seems vacant since the widow's death. Some dirty children sat on the door-sill, and the knocker seemed torn half off. The soul of the man is now happily far away from all that. Jean and Jamie were both as kind as could be. They are prosperous both, I think. Jean received your parcel with great expressions of thankfulness. Mary, too, at Annan was emphatic in her gratitude, in her affectionate remembrance of you—all which was pleasant to hear. . . . At Annan I found Goody's letter, review of Sartor,' gift to my mother-all as right as it could be. Thanks to thee, my good wife-though very hot-tempered one. Oh, my dear Jeanie, I have more regard for thee than, perhaps, thou wilt ever rightly know. But let that pass. The Angel, as thou sayest, does stir the waters more ways than one. Surely our better days are still coming. All here salute you right heartily. My mother is proud of her gifts. Ever your own,

...

T. CARLYLE.

On his way home, in October, he spent a day or two with a sister who had married a Mr. Hanning, in Manchester, and inet with an adventure there. He had been put to sleep in an old bed, which he remembered in his father's house.

I was just closing my senses in sweet oblivion (he said), when the watchman, with a voice like the deepest groan of the Highland bagpipe, or what an ostrich corncraik might utter, groaned out Groo-0-0-0 close under me, and set all in a gallop again. Groo-0-0-0; for there was no articulate announcement at all in it, that I could gather. Groo-0-0-0, repeated again and again at various distances, dying out and then growing loud again, for an hour or more. I grew impatient, bolted out of bed, flung up the window. Groo-o-o-o. There he was advancing, lantern in hand, a few yards off me. 'Can't you give up that noise?' I hastily addressed him. 'You are keeping a person awake. What good is it to go

howling and groaning all night, and deprive people of their sleep?' He ceased from that time—at least I heard no more of him. No watchman, I think, has been more astonished for some time back. At five in the morning all was as still as sleep and darkness. At half-past five all went off like an enormous mill-race or ocean-tide. Boom-m-m, far and wide. It was the mills that were all starting then, and creishy' drudges by the million taking post there. I have heard few sounds more impressive to me in the mood I was in.

At home he found all well. He arrived at midnight, finding Mrs. Carlyle improved in health, and sitting up for him; himself quite rested, and equal to work again.

I have been eight weeks in Scotland (he noted), looked on the stones of Edinburgh city, wondered whether it was solid or a dream; then to Annandale, finally drifted back hither-foolish drift log on the sea of accident, where I since lie high and dry not a whit wiser. How many tragedies, epics, Haynes Baily ballads, and bursts of Parliamentary eloquence' would it take to utter this one tour by an atrabilian lecturer on things in general?

6

Evidences were waiting for him that he was becoming a person of consequence notwithstanding. Presents had been sent by various admirers. There was good news from America. The English edition of the French Revolution' was almost sold, and another would be called for, while there were numberless applications from review editors for articles if he would please to supply them. Another 501. had come from Boston, and he had been meditating an indulgence for himself out of all this prosperity in the shape of a horse, nothing keeping him in health so much as riding; but his first thought was of Scotsbrig creishy 'greasy.'