of him at Edinburgh, that fine talents were being thrown away— that what he had to say was extravagant nonsense.

Jeffrey did all in his power at one time to aid Carlyle, and finding it impossible to induce him to accept pecuniary assistance, roused his ire by helping his brother. "If only," says either Jeffrey or the biographer (p. 151), "he would not be so unpracticable and so arrogant. If only he could be persuaded that he was not an inspired being, and destined to be the founder of a new religion! But a solitary life and a bad stomach had so spoilt him, all but the heart, that he despaired of being able to mend him." Macaulay and several others" (p. 153), "who had laughed at his 'Signs of the Times,' had been struck with its force and originality. If he would but give himself fair play, if he could but believe that men might differ from him without being in damnable error, he would make his way to the front without difficulty."

The following is the matured opinion of Mr Froude as to the real excellence of the man in later life, who impressed his earlier contemporaries in the way which we have just described. We extract it as the best descriptive passage in the book before us :

"His power of speech, unequalled, so far as my experience goes, by that of any other man, had begun to open itself. Carlyle first, and all the rest nowhere,' was the description of him by one of the best judges in London, when speaking of the great talkers of the day. His vast reading, his minute observation, his miraculously retentive memory, gave him something to say on every subject which could be

raised. What he took into his mind was dissolved and recrystallised into original combinations of his own. His writing, too, was as fluent as his speech. His early letters-even the

most exquisitely finished sentences of them are in an even and beautiful

hand, without erasure or alteration of a phrase. Words flowed from him with a completeness of form which no effort could improve. When he was excited, it was like the eruption of a volcano, thunder and lightning, hot stones and smoke and ashes. He had

a natural tendency to exaggeration, and although at such times his extraordinary metaphors and flashes of Titanesque humour made him always worth listening to, he was at his best when talking of history or poetry or biography, or of some contemporary person or incident which had either touched his sympathy or amused his delicate sense of absurdity. His laugh was from his whole nature, voice, eyes, and even his whole body. And there was never any malice in it. His own definition of humour-'a genial sympathy with the under side'-was the definition also of his own feeling about all things and all persons when it was himself that was speaking, and not what he called the devil that was occasionally in possession. In the long years that I was intimate with him, I never heard him tell a malicious story or say a malicious word of any human being. His language was sometimes like the rolling of a great cathedral organ, sometimes like the softest flute notes, sad or playful as the mood or the subject might be; and you listened-threw in perhaps an occasional word to show that you went along with him, but you were simply charmed and listened on without caring to interrupt. Interruption indeed would answer little purpose, for Carlyle did not bear contradiction any

better than Johnson. Contradiction able. He gave you a full picture of would make him angry and unreasonwhat was in his own mind, and you took it away with you and reflected on it."

Although in these volumes, and in the Reminiscences,' there are, as we said before, ample materials for judging of Carlyle's character and the mode in which it was developed, the reader is left very much to his own devices in forming a judgment, as he is with regard to Carlyle's

message and work. At the close of the book the "lights and shadows" are discussed. With regard to the characteristics there set forth, we are wholly dissatisfied, after giving it our best consideration, with Mr Froude's estimate of them and of their consequences. We think he underestimates the gravity of the faults and wholly exaggerates the consequences, at least as regards Mrs Carlyle, which he attributes to them. The subject is worth close consideration or none at all. If Carlyle had this incomprehensible and inexpressible message to deliver, it would naturally be developed quite as much by his life as by his works. But without in the least disparaging the virtue of that complete subjection of his whole life and prospects to whatever he may have regarded as his ruling purpose, it is quite clear that no effort at all was made to recast his own character, temper, and habits in accordance with those views of duty which he was perpetually inculcating upon others, The consequence was, that he combined some very heroic qualities and conduct with habitual disregard of some of the plainest and most commonplace of human duties. It is in the nature of stern selfrenunciation, in pursuance of fixed purpose, to beget want of sympathy with others. In Carlyle's case there was a detachment and concentration of self so marked, that he is represented both by himself and his biographer as having, contrary we think to the evidence when fairly considered, sacrificed, whilst extremely vocal himself as to all his own ailments and discomforts, not merely the happiness but even the health of his wife; and he appears on all occasions as expressing, even if he did not feel, the most unbounded antipathy to all whom he could regard as rivals. Setting

aside his deep devotion and generous attachment to his blood relations, his appreciation and love of others seem to have always been of that posthumous sort which does. not attain full development till the object of them is laid in the grave, while the stronger passions of scorn, animosity, and contempt appear to have been indulged without stint.

Some of these main incidents in Carlyle's life are worth attention. They may have resulted, as Mr Froude puts it (vol. i. p. 50), from "genius in the process of developing, combined with an irritable nervous system, and a fiercely impatient temper;" but they none the less disclose faults of the gravest character, which there was no adequate attempt made to combat with. Every outlet into practical life was barred by his impracticable temper; his entrance into literature as a professional pursuit was impeded for years by the defiant temper which he carried into his very style. The temper of the man raised or augmented the difficulties which his genius had to surmount. No doubt schoolmastering was a most uncongenial occupation, teaching stupid boys arithmetic. We are not surprised that he kicked the schoolmaster functions over in two years as intolerable. Hunger no doubt drove him to it; a rival school was started, which drew off the pupils and spoilt the dignity of his retreat. Thrown on the world and his own resources, his thrifty habits were his best refuge. His powers of conciliation are shown in his own statement, that vinegar was his reception wherever he passed his fellow-creatures. became a prey to nameless struggles and miseries, betook himself in desperation to the legal profession, but was soon disgusted with it. "Reticence" (vol. i. p. 78) “about his personal sufferings was at no

He

time one of his virtues. Dyspepsia had him by the throat. Even the minor ailments to which our flesh is heir, and which most of us bear in silence, the eloquence of his imagination flung into forms like the temptations of a saint. His mother had early described him as 'gey ill to live wi';' and while in great things he was the most considerate and generous of men, in trifles he was most intolerably irritable." Or to quote another pas sage (vol. i. p. 118), "Indeed, as a rule, all serious trials he endured as nobly as man could do. When his temper failed, it was when some metaphorical gnat was buzzing about his ears;" but this from the nature of things and of life was frequent, and the results strike one as insufferable. "When dyspepsia" (p. 183) was upon him he spared no one, least of all those who were nearest and dearest to him. Penitence, however, sincere as it might be, was never followed by amendment, even to the very end of his life.”

Eventually Irving obtained for him that tutorship in the Buller family which has become celebrated, and to which Carlyle was indebted for a liberal income at a crisis in his life, which might have led to penury and want. What is more, his services and himself were fully appreciated, both by the pupil and by the family. Charles Buller was, as Froude says (vol. ii. p. 216), "the only person of distinction and promise with whom he came into contact that he heartily admired." He was therefore at once freed from all money anxieties, and could and did help his brothers. Naturally Mrs Buller was 66 one of the most fascinating, refined women he had ever seen." The house was "" more and more a kind of home" to him; and the connection continued to be an agreeable one for some time. Yet he was always quarrelling with

his lot. He was (p. 191) " uneasy, restless with dyspepsia and intellectual fever." He laid the blame on his position, and soon meditated throwing up his engagement. Mr and Mrs Buller did all they could, but "their good resolutions and enactments require to be executed by a pack of lazy, careless, and irregular waiting men and women." He saw every ailment and every discomfort through the lens of his imagination, and his extraordinary faculty of vigorous statement reacted upon and confirmed his exaggerated impressions. If Edinburgh lodg ings were uncomfortable, he complained of "stenches and horrors more than tongue can tell;" to be condemned, hanged, and quartered, would involve less torment (p. 193) than he had endured in that fatal city. He "bullyragged the sluttish harlots of the place," and so on. If a watchman's voice disturbed him, he longed to cut his throat (p. 202); "his voice was loud, hideous, and ear and soul piercing, resembling the voices of ten thousand gibcats all molten into one terrific peal." And as for Mrs Buller's household management, he concluded eventually that he could never recover or retain his health under it. "Nothing therefore remains for me but to leave it. This kind of life is next to absolute starvation, only slower in its agony." When he left it, he had entirely forgotten the sense of relief and satisfaction with which he had entered on the engagement. shifting and trotting about which Mrs Buller managed with so total a disregard to my feelings (!), joined to the cold and selfish style of the lady's general proceedings," &c., &c. "I feel glad that I have done with them: their family was ruining my body and mind. I was selling the very quintessence of my spirit for £200 a-year. Adieu, therefore, to

"The

ancient dames of quality, that flaunting, painting, patching, nervous, vapourish, jigging, skimming, scolding race of mortals. Their clothes are silk, their manners courtly, their hearts are kipper." This is in a letter to his mother, under the sense of annoyance of his engagement having been terminated; written in cold blood, after time for reflection. The editor may well add, "Poor Mrs Buller! a year back one of the most fascinating women he had ever met.' She was about forty, and probably had never flaunted, painted, or patched in her life." It takes a great deal of dyspepsia and genius to excuse in the slightest degree the ingratitude and injustice of the whole tone and temper displayed by Carlyle, at the time a responsible being of twenty-nine. On the other hand, there is a passage in 'Sartor Resartus,' penned only six years after this outburst for the consolation of the intelligent reader of that work, under similar circumstances of dissatisfaction: "I tell thee, blockhead, it all comes of thy vanity; of what thou fanciest" (the italics are not ours) "those same deserts of thine to be. Fancy that thou deservest to be hanged (as is most likely), thou wilt feel it happiness to be only shot; fancy that thou deservest to be hanged in a hair-halter, it will be a luxury to die in hemp." And again, in another passage of the same work, we find a further illustration of the varying character of Carlyle's wisdom, according as it was intended for his own or his neighbours' consumption: "What is this that ever since earliest years thou hast been fretting, and fuming, and lamenting, and selftormenting on account of? Say it in a word; is it not because thou art not HAPPY? Because the THOU (sweet gentleman) is not sufficiently honoured, nourished, soft-bedded,

and lovingly cared for? Foolish soul! What Act of Legislature was there that thou shouldst be happy? . . . Art thou nothing other than a vulture, then, that fliest through the Universe seeking after something to eat; and shrieking dolefully because carrion enough is not given thee? Close thy Byron, open thy Goethe."

The passages in which Carlyle criticises one by one the best literary names of his day, and describes the impressions which they made upon him, have been frequently quoted, and are, as might be expected, far from complimentary. All through his life he appears to have preferred a dead lion to a living one. Dyspepsia coloured his views mainly of the living. We will merely give here his general impression of London literary men, expressed, of course, in that spirit of veracity, sincerity, and measured accuracy of statement which he was always impressing upon others:—

"Literary men! The devil in his own good time take all such literary men. One sterling fellow like Schiller, or even old Johnson, would take halfa-dozen such creatures by the nape of the neck between his finger and thumb and carry them forth to the nearest common sink. Save Allan Cunningham, our honest Nithsdale peasant, there is not one man amongst them. In short, it does not seem worth while to spend five- and - forty shillings weekly for the privilege of being near such penmen."

And again (vol. ii. p. 186):—

whom the devil in his own good time "They are the devil's own vermin, will snare and successively eat. The creature (-) called again: the most insignificant haddock in nature-a dirty, greasy, Cockney apprentice, altogether empty and non extant except, &c., and the completest outfit of innocent blank self-conceit I ever in life chanced to witness. He is a blown

bladder, from which no substance is to be sought. God be with him!"

The facile power of vigorous statement is a great snare to even the strongest intellects. It is impossible to suppose that Carlyle really meant a tithe of what he from time to time said in these letters and observations which Mr Froude has published. Everything and everybody came under his ban; but if in every case right terrible is the curse, no one, from Irving's baby to George Eliot herself, not excepting Wilson and De Quincey, is a penny the worse. Wounded vanity has often something to do with it: witness the curious reminiscence of the expedition to the Staffordshire coal-mines, where Airey, then recently a senior wrangler, is the honoured guest, and Carlyle, an unknown youth, has to bring up the rear with the "foot licker," as he contemptuously calls Airey's friend. Long years afterwards the whole incident rankles in his memory; and the unfortunate "foot licker" is the scapegoat who bears with him into the wilderness of time all the sins of those who failed to accord to Carlyle the post of honour. Jealousy was one of Carlyle's most serious failings, and it is displayed on behalf of his wife as well as himself. "Not all the Sands and Eliots," he explains (Rem., vol. ii. p. 250) "and babbling cohue of celebrated scribbling women that have strutted over the world in my time could, it seems to me, if all boiled down and distilled to essence, make one such woman." No doubt there is plenty of talent and genius in the world which never seeks public recognition. But their possessors should be foremost to appreciate those who succeed in obtaining it, even though their own path in life has led to other equally satisfactory but less conspicuous triumphs. It is interesting also to note Carlyle's estimate of a book which

achieved a more world-wide and enduring fame than any of his own -viz., 'Darwin on the Origin of Species.' "Wonderful to me as indicating the capricious stupidity of mankind. Never could read a page of it, or waste the least thought on it."

The reminiscences, so far as they were biographical of Mrs Carlyle and expressive of Carlyle's remorse for his small contribution to their jointstock of married happiness, created a storm of indignation against his memory. They have elevated his married life to the dignity of a literary problem. The wives of literary men of eminence run, it seems to us, great risk of enduring through life all the suffering which that irritabile genus of mankind know so well how to inflict, and of enduring after death an apotheosis calculated to make any woman of refined and sensitive character stir in her grave. Some ten years ago all the descriptive energy of the English language was brought into play in Mill's Autobiography for the purpose of doing honour to his wife and stepdaughter. It is interesting to note with regard to the former that Carlyle regarded her as "a very will-o'-wispish iridescence of a creature" (Rem., vol. ii. p. 117), whom Mrs Carlyle speedily taught her proper place: with regard to the latter, the London School Board, and even the Irish Ladies' Land League, can form their own, and perhaps a correcter estimate. Carlyle, however, was far more happily placed. There cannot be a second opinion as to the loyalty and self-devotion, the talents and spirit, which Mrs Carlyle's life, so far as it is yet disclosed, exhibited throughout.

It seems to us a great literary blunder, not fair to Carlyle's memory, to have published those