one's very senses." He settled with his wife in the suburb of Chelsea, taking the house in Cheyne Row where he was to spend the long remainder of his life. Of the new home he wrote to his mother: "We lie safe at a bend of the river, away from all the great roads, have air and quiet hardly inferior to Craigenputtock, an outlook from the back windows into mere leafy regions with here and there a red high-peaked old roof looking through; and see nothing of London, except by day the summits of St. Paul's Cathedral, and Westminster Abbey, and by night the gleam of the great Babylon affronting the peaceful skies." Here Carlyle gathered about him all that was best in the new intellectual life now stirring in the nation-John Stuart Mill, the political economist; the youthful Tennyson, who had published two slender volumes, but was as yet unknown to fame; Leigh Hunt, the essayist and friend of Keats; Browning, whose star had not yet risen, though he had already done some of his most wonderful work; Dickens, in the full tide of his fame; and Ruskin, who was to be Carlyle's greatest disciple.

In 1837 Carlyle published his French Revolution. With this book he at last gained the ear of the public, and from this time on his reputation grew apace. For more than thirty years after this, he stood as teacher and preacher to the people of England and America, thundering above them wrath, warning, and exhortation. The chief works of this long period were Chartism (1839), an anti-democratic deliverance on the labor troubles then agitating England; Heroes and Hero-Worship (1841), a great sermon on veneration, calling upon the world to love, honor, and submit in childlike obedience to its great men, whether they appear as warrior, poet, or priest; Cromwell (1850), Latter-Day Pamphlets, the Life of John Sterling (1851), a masterpiece of intimate biography, in which he enshrined the memory of a friend in a work as noble in its kind as that which Milton had dedicated to Henry King, or Shelley to Keats. His last work of importance was the History of Friedrich 11 (1858-1865), a vast picture of the life and times of the founder of the Prussian empire.

From 1865 until his death in 1881, the veneration in which

Carlyle's name was held steadily increased. In 1866 he was installed as Lord Rector of his own University of Edinburgh, having been elected by the students to succeed Gladstone. The day of his installation was the proudest of his life. Youths and gray-haired scholars hung upon the calm and noble words of the old seer "like children held by a tale of fairyland"; and when his address was concluded, the students crowded about him, some shedding tears. In the same month his wife died. Carlyle never recovered from the shock and grief of her death. On the bright shores of the Mediterranean, and later in his desolate house at Chelsea, he wrote his "Reminiscences," intended chiefly as a memoir of his lost wife. As he lay upon his death-bed he was heard to murmur "Honesty, honesty"; the word which gives the keynote of his teaching and of his life.

Carlyle's Personality.-Carlyle had a most caustic tongue, and hardly any even of his best friends escaped from the biting humor of it. As he grew older, his petulance grew upon him, and the lightning strokes of his wit and anger spared neither friend nor foe. Yet underneath this bitter surface was a nature of the deepest tenderness. The first volume of his French Revolution, which he had lent to John Stuart Mill to read, was accidentally destroyed. The labor of rewriting it was so enormous as at first entirely to crush his courage. Yet when Mill had left the room, after telling him and his wife of the loss, all that Carlyle said was, "Poor Mill! We shall have to conceal from him how very serious this is to us." The last letters written to him by his friend Sterling he speaks of as "brief, stern, loving, altogether noble, never to be forgotten in this world," and some verses sent him from the same hand, he refers to as "verses written for myself alone, as in star-fire and immortal tears." Perhaps nowhere does the deep tenderness of his rugged, volcanic nature appear so exquisitely as in the sentences written about his mother after he had been called to her death-bed in 1853"It was my mother and not my mother. The last pale rim or sickle of the moon which had once been full, sinking in the dark seas." His rugged, deeply-chiselled features bore always the marks of spiritual pain. In moments of excite

ment and eloquence his eye, we are told, would "beat like a pulse," under his abrupt, cliff-like forehead and bushy brows. But there was in him, along with all that is fiercely earnest, with much that is sardonic and grim, a spring of genuine and ever-flowing fun. In general temper he reminds us, as has been often said, of some old Hebrew prophet, Isaiah or Jeremiah; but he could also be genial, graceful, full of sly, delicious humor. It was this mingling of rude strength with tenderness and humor that Emerson probably had in mind when he described Carlyle quaintly as "a triphammer with an Eolian attachment."

Underlying Spirit of Carlyle's Work. The actual doctrines which Carlyle preached with such intensity-his "Gospel of Work," his political dogma of "Government by the Best" (instead of "government by the worst," as he held democracy to be), and all the other war-cries of his unending battle with his age-are of less moment than the spirit which underlies his writing. This spirit may be defined as an intense moral indignation against whatever is weak, or false, or mechanical; an intense moral enthusiasm for whatever is sincere and heroically forceful. From this point of view his two typical books are Sartor Resartus and Heroes and HeroWorship. The first is an attack upon all those social shams and mechanisms which defeat the sincerity of life; the second is a pæan of praise for those chosen heroic spirits who join earnestness with power. Sartor Resartus is pre-eminent in philosophic interest among all his books. It is also extremely ingenious in plan, and is written with a wonderful mingling of wild sardonic humor, keen pathos, and an eloquence and elevation almost biblical.

"Sartor

66 Resartus." 'Sartor Resartus" means "the tailor re-tailored," and its theme is clothes. It purports to be the fragment of a great "Clothes-philosophy," the lifework of an eccentric German scholar and recluse, Herr Diogenes Teufelsdröckh, professor of Knowledge-in-general at the university of None-knows-where. This philosophy has been left in wild confusion, scribbled on scattered leaves, and stuffed helter-skelter into twelve bags signed with the twelve signs of the Zodiac. Carlyle represents himself merely

as editor and commentator of this weltering mass of words, endeavoring desperately to extract order out of chaos, and to lighten a little, with much head-shaking and consternation, the dark abysses of the German professor's thought. This whimsical fancy of Carlyle's enables him to be both author and commentator; to state astounding paradoxes and then to shrug his shoulders in sign of his own irresponsibility; to take the side of his opponents against what he, as a wellregulated editor, pretends to find extravagant and crazy doctrine, but what is really his own heart's belief.

The book has a two-fold meaning. In the first place, it is a veiled attack upon the shams and pretences of society, upon hollow rank, hollow officialism, hollow custom, out of which life and usefulness have departed. These are, Carlyle hints, the fantastic, outworn garments which stifle the breath and health of the social body. Under the shield of this novel idea, he attacks the mechanical view of life, mechanical education, mechanical government, mechanical religion; and he preaches, now with drollery and paradox, now with fiery earnestness, a return to sincerity in all things. In the second place, Carlyle applies the Clothesphilosophy to the universe at large; showing that as clothes hide the real man, and as custom and convention hide real society, so Time and Space and all created things hide the real spiritual nature of the universe.

Carlyle's Style. The pretence that he was translating from the German gave Carlyle an excuse for developing in Sartor Resartus a style of expression full of un-English idiom, of violent inversions, startling pauses and sharp turns -a style which he employed to rouse the attention of his reader as by a series of electric shocks. He himself refers humorously to this odd new use of language, as a “rumfustianish roly-poly growlery of style," and says that his mood in evolving it, was that of "a half-reckless casting of the brush, with its many frustrated colors, upon the canvas.' However recklessly or humorously evolved, the style continued to be his for the remainder of his life. It has been said that "henceforth he wrote English no more, but 'Carlylese.'"