CARLYLE.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VI, Issue 456, 13 April 1912, Page 7

CARLYLE.

'A DAY OF HIS LIFE.

When Carlyle left Cheyne Row, Chelsea, in the March of 1866, to .deliver his rectoral address in Edinburgh, I accompanied him. Our arrangement was that we should proceed through Yorkshire and pay a visit to Lord Houghton at his houst of Freystone. In due course wt reached Freystone, and after dinnei all went to bed. Railways had multiplied ; they clasped Freystone as in a ring, and their whistles were energetically active all night.. I feared the result, and my fears proved only too well grounded. In the morning [ found Carlyle in his bedroom, wild with, his sufferings. He had not slept a wink. It ought to be noted that on the evening previous he had dined two or three hours later thar was his wont, and had engaged in a vigorous discussion after dinner. Looking at me despairingly, he said, '"I can stay no longer at Freystone, another such night would kill me."

"You shall do exactly as you please," was my reply. "I will explain matters to Lord Houghton, and he, I am persuaded will comply with all your wishes."

I spoke to Lord Houghton, who, though sorely disappointed, agreed that it was best to allow his guest complete freedom of action. It was accordingly arranged that we should push on to Edinburgh. Carlyle's breakfast was prepared. He partially filled a bowl with strong tea, added milk, and an egg beaten up. Rendered thus nutritive, the tea seemed to soothe and strengthen him.

As we breakfasted our projects were discussed. Once, after a pause, he exclaimed, "How ungrateful it is on my part, after so much kindness, to quit Freystonc in this fashion." Taking prompt advantage of this moment of relenting, I said. "Do not.

quit it, but stay. We will take a pair of horses and gallop over the rountry for five or six hours. V.hon you return you shall have a dinner like what you are accustomed to at home, and I will take care that there shall be no discussions afterwards." He laughed, which was a good sign. I stood to my guns, and he at. length yielded. Lord Houghton joyfully ratified the programme, and two horses were immediately got ready. The animal bestrode by Carlyle was a large bony grey, with a terribly hard mouth. He seemed disposed to bolt,, and obviously required a strong wrist to rein him in. Carlyle was no longer young : paralysis agitans had enfeebled his right hand —for some time my anxiety was great. But after sundry imprecations and strenuous backward pulls, the horse was at length clearly mastered by its rider, and we fleetly sped along. Through lanes, over fields, along highroads, past turnpike gates where I oaM the toll.

' This continued for at least live hours, at the end -.f which we returned, and handed the bespattered horses over to the groom. The roads and lanes had been abominable, mud to the fetlocks, not to speak of the slimy fields. Had the groom's feelings been allowed open \oiit, we should have had imprecations on his part also. We heard only a surface murmur, but the storm, I doubt not, discharged itself behind our backs in the stable.

Carlyle went to his room, donned his slippers and his respectable grey dressing-gown.

Carrying with him one of the lons "churchwardens" which he always obtained from Glasgow, he stuffed it full of tobacco. Choosing a positicn on the carpet by the hall fire which enabled him to send the products of combustion up the chimney, to the obvious astonishment of the passing servants he began to smoke. Having with me at the time a flask of choice pale brandy, of this, mixed with soda-water, I gave him a stiff tumbler. The ride had healthily tired him, and he looked the picture of content.

At six o'clock his simple dinner was set before- him, and he was warned against discussion. It was the traditional warning of the warhorse to be quiet when he hears the bugle sound. In the evening discussion began with one of the guests, and I could see that Carlyle was ready to dasb into it as impetuously as he had done the night before. I laid my band upon his arm, and said sternly,, "We must have no more of this."

He arched his brows good humouredly, burst into laughter, and ended the discussion.

I accompanied him to his bedroom, every chink and fissure of which had been closed to stop out both light and sound. "I have no hope of sleep," he said, "and I will come to your room at seven in the morning." My reply was, "I thin'c you will sleep, and if so, I will come to your room instead of your coming to mine." My hopes were mainly founded on\ the vigorous exercise he had taken ; but the next day being Good Friday, I also hoped for a mitigation of the whistling nuisance.

At seven o'clock, accordingly, I stood at his door. There was no sound. Returning at eight, I found the same dead silence. At nine, hearing a rustle. I opened his door and found him dressing. The change from the previous morning was astonishing. Never before ar afterwards did I see Carlyle's countenance glow with such happiness. It was seraphic. I have often thought of it since. How in the case of a man possessing a range of life wide enough to embrace the demoniac and the godlike, a few hours' sound 3leep can lift him from the grovelling hell of the one into the serene heaven of the other ! This question af sleep or sleeplessness hides many a tragedy.

He looked at me with boundless blessedness in his eyes and voice. "My dear friend, I am a totally new man ; I have slept nino hours withDut once awaking."—From "Fragments," by Professor Tyndall.