River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1880-12-23
THE DYING CARLYLE.
Closing Days OF the old synjc and
Philosopher.
London Cor. Baltimore sun.

On my return to London | have
heard much about Thomas Carlyle, be-
ing sufferer of insomnia. He is not.
He is gradually going down the hill of
life and into "the valley of the shadow
of death" by slow and easy stages, with
clear and rested brain. He is APP
preaching 50 years, and may well
afford to look back, as Dante did, and
be proudly remembered to the future
as one 'wno whipped vice with a
der, shamed lascivious lust and pluck
ed off the visor from grim treasons
face" | made up my mind TO call and
personally learn ut Carlyle's house his
condition. Years ago had letter of
introduction to him from literary
light of Boston, and | recalled
with some misgiving my chances
of seeing 'the old man of per-
petual fame" Then it took me days
to see the sage of Chelsea" How
could ] hope to see the philosopher of
Cheync Rowe now in moment? But
! went my way toward this noted
abode, so quaint in its simplicity and
so true in its snug, quiet retreat. |
Mr.. Carlyle was very i'll, and not able
to see anyone. Take my card, and let
him say through you how he really is,
| remarked The servant did so, re-
turned, and to my delight | was ushered
up stairs to IL sort of semi-boudoir,
where, seated in large, square, half
recumbcnt chair, | found the great
writer, thinker, reformer. We were
soon joined by his niece, a calm, and
thoughtful looking little lady who said
i could talk, but che must not"
Thomas Carlyle could not be silent,
however, and said: "Ah, | cannot
work much more, and that of all grieves
me before going" The same persist
ent idea OF work which marked
the young Scotch lad as he
came into the world was with
the European octogenarian philosopher
as he was going out of it. Work to
Carlyle-true work-has been his Cos
pei Of life. BY his side, on little table,
also of cane or bamboo structure, like
unto the chair in which he reclined,
there we're slips of paper, as if notes on
something of the past, or, perhaps, of
the future, by this brave old man. He
looked from out and under his shaggy
eyebrows with the deep fire of his de-
parting soul, earnestly, seriously, and
almost sa7agely. His thin, scraggy,
scrawny face, with coarse, gray, grizzly
beard, his compressed, determined
lips, made dual picture of the inner
man of youth, fighting with the outer
one of decay. His thin, bony, express
i've hands make all his sledge-hammer
sentences come to my memory, and |
could then and now quote pages of
them by sheer enthusiasm. Presently
his niece reappeared and said; LA
me, you've taken off the nit
tens" ThereupOn she en-
cased those wiry hands with
knitted wooden mittens so large and so
loose that all the electrical expressive
ness of the hands was instantly gone.
| remembered at once all the force of
what Sir Arthur Helps wrote on great
hands and their greatness of express
sion" Not large and loose hands;
great ones Carlyle wore a black
velvet skull cap, which did not inn
prove his app arance, and around his
body had his favorite plaid shawl. II
am not I'LL never was i'll" said he,
in his emphatic and broad Scotch
accent, somewhat pettishly, if not
peevishly; 81 am only going-going-
going going !" And his eyes lost their
grim fire of expression, his emphatic,
rasping voice fell into lower tone, and
/ sat silent before the only living man
worthy of my silence; the only man
when dead ever worthy of my
loud admiration The room was
small and the fire made the tenn
perature oppressive, yet the icy manner
of the Sage of Chelsea" believed the
atmospheric oppression on cur lungs.
| saw some few books around, chiefly
in the German language. A small
bust of William of Orange, and one of
Peter the Great was readily discernible
while an engraving or two of Scotch
scenery made the rest of the ornamen-
tation of the close and well closed
room. In taking my leave of the great
old man he said feebly: go on, and
work with all your will-uproot error"
| shook the feeble and mittened hand,
and left Thomas Carlyle, who in the
flesh may soon leave us, but in the
spirit will ever remain.