AN INTERVIEW WITH THOMAS CARLYLE.

Southland Times, Issue 1208, 11 February 1870, Page 3

AN INTERVIEW WITH THOMAS CARLYLE.

(From the Hew YorTc Tribune.) The current report at home that Mr Carlvle had spoken of America as a nation of bores did not deter me from seeking an interview with the venerable sacre. I had been one of the sincerest admirers of his t >rly writings, and, in spite of the crotoiets of his latter days, had never "v-'-Bjto regard him with the grateful reiMJfdce which we feel toward the benefactors of our minds. The exchange of letters on several different occasions since the issue of " Sartor Eesartus," in Boston, and his friendship for many of my own most intimate friends in America, served to soften the intrusiveness of my visit, and to pave the way for a gracious reception. I was aware of his aversion to the presence of strangers, and of the ) penurious economy with which he hoards every moment of his time, and was prepared for disappointment in case I should find him difficult of access. My call was in the busiest portion of the day, when I knew that he was engaged in the absorb ing task of revising his works for the new edition now passing through, the press, and I did not expect to accomplish any- j thing more than to appoint a time for a j future interview. With a little difficulty, j •I fc£Rs£ his modest dwelling in a rural suburb of London on the left bank of the Thames, almost concealed from view by a high brick wall on the opposite side of the street. The ancient dame who opened the door meekly informed me that Mr Carlyle was at home, but would probably not be able to see any visitors at that hour. Fortifying my card with a brief note, explaining the purpose of my visit, and proposing to wait upon him at some more opportune moment, I was at once invited to his study up one flight of stairs. It was a room of humble pretensions, looking out on the blank wall in front, well lined with books that had evidently seen service in other days, adorned with a few portraits and busts, and the furniture of the scantiest and simplest description. Mr Carlyle received me without ceremony, and in the kindest manner. He remembered my name,' and expressed pleasure that he had not b§eu forgotten by his American friends. X should have known him anywhere from his resemblance to his common photographs, although I expected to see more decided marks of his weight of years. Of about the middle height, he stands firm arid erect. His head is not of unusual magnitude, his brow broad rather than high, and his dark eye of brilliant vivacity. His hair, to a great degree, retains the color of youth. The expression of his face indicates self-re-liance and decision. His voice is clear and animated, rising in conversation to the highest notes, and with, a strong Scotch accent. He rarely closes his sentences with an emphatic cadence, the suspension of his tone leading you to expect a suspension of the sense. His costume w;as characteristic, betraying no deferenpe to fashion, and adopted for convenience rather than beauty. It was a long grey robe, something like a surtout, reaching from the chin to the feet, closely buttoned and giving the impression of an inmate of a mediaeval religious house. The conversation of Mr Carlyle, like that of Coleridge, as his visitors nave frequently remarked, is principally monologue. This appears to arise not so much from indifference to his guests, as from absorption in his theme. He talks like one of Goethe's demoniac men, whois taken possession of by some superior force, and speaks only as the Spirit gives him utterance. You listeri to him as to a weird and mighty power of Nature, and would no more think of interrupting him than of staying thejeourae of the whirlwind/ or of arresting j the- current of Niagara. .He leaps from;point to point, as the lightning on the! Alps, not winding at his " own sweet will," but hurled like lava from a volcano. His discourse presents a strange agglomeration of wisdom, humor, prejudice, kindly sentiments, bitter antipathies, pointed sayings, curious fantasies, prophetic announcements, indignant protests, oddly mingled in a manycolored sparkling torrent of impetuous words. He seems to take a secret delight in his own thoughts and fancies, as if they had struck him for the first time, and sometimes chuckles over them with a burst of unearthly laughter, as if. he had just heard them from some spirit of the air. His fi^s of glee are almost infantile in their vehemence, though usually sardonic in their character. The fine vein of irony which pervades his writings gives equal pungency to his conversation. It is doubtless the natural expression of his intense earnestness of feeling, which can only find sufficient vent in persiflage and extravagance. On this account, Mr Carlyle is often misunderstood. In listening to his talk, you must constantly keep in mind the intention of the speaker, without putting a too literal construction on his words. Nor can you hold him to a rigid account, 1 as you would a man who expresses himself with more deliberate purpose, and whose words are the symbols of his will. Mr Carlyle gives you little idea of a conscious personality, subject to the control of reason, and acting from choice and volition : he seems rather some grand pantheistic force, urged onward by its own laws, with which expression is identical with existence.. In my internew with him, he spoke with warm, affectionate feeling of his old American friends, especially of E. W. Emerson an<4 Henry James, whom he always rec^enibered with love, though he had sometimes had high words with the latter for! his attachment to transcendental 'speculation. I doubt whether Carlyle's mind is able to comprehend the philosphic depth of Mr James, and it is no wonder that he would get a little angry at seeing his friend plunge into fields and forests which to him were nothing but thorny and desert wildernesses. Of the personal traits which so strongly attach each of those distinguished men to the circle of their acquaintance, he spoke not only with

admiration, but with enthusiasm. The condition of America, lam bound to acknowledce, was descanted on by Mr Carlyle in terms less remarkable for flattery than force. " Aa sure as the Lord reigns," said he, " you are rushing down to hell with desperate velocity. The scum of the world has got possession of your country, and nothing can save you from the devil's clutches. Not, perhaps," cried he, raising his voice to his shrillest tones, " a hell burning with material fire and brimstone, but the wide weltering fiery chaos of corruption in high places, and the misrule of the people. A fine repnblic that ! England follows in the train, and is even now on the brink of the infernal precipice — and hell below." Of course, I could make no reply to these " prophetic sounds so full of woe," but waited in serene silence for the tempest to pass over. He soon subsided into a more genial humor, discoursed blandly and wisely on many topics of common interest, was in no haste to break off the conversation, and it waa not until after several attempts on my part to take leave that he followed me into his little flower-garden at the rear of the house, where he told roe he was wont to smoke bis erening pipe, and I succeeded in bidding him farewell.