The Portland daily press., 1880-11-16
The Dying Carlyle.
Closing Days of the Old Cynic and Phil
Osopher.
lCorr. Baltimore SUM-

Corr Baltimore Sum-.
On my return to London have heard much
about Thomas Carlyle being sufferer from
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 sure stages,
with clear and rested brain. He is approach
ing IS years, and may we'll afford to look back;
as Dante did, and be proudly remembered in
The future as one who whipped vice with a
scou-ge of steel, remasked stern murder.
shamed lascivious lust and plucked off the Wis
or from grim treason's face" made up my
mind to call and personally learn at Carlyle's
house his condition. Years ago had a letter
of introduction to him from literary light of
Boston, and I recalled with some misgivings
my chances of seeing "the old man of perpetu-
ual fame" Then it took me days to see the
sage of Chelsea How could hope to see the
philosopher of Cheyne Rowe" now in mo-
ment? But went my way toward this noted
abode, so quaint in its simplicity, and so true
in its snug, quiet retreat / learned from the
trusty servant that Mr.. Carlyle was very i'll,
and not able to see any one. Take my card,
and let him say through that, how he really
is" remarked. The servant did so returned
and to my delight was uShered up stairs to
sort of semi-boudoir, where, seated in q large,
square, half recumbont chair, found the great
writer, thinker, reformer. We were soon
tie lady, who said might talk, but che must
not" Thomas Carlyle could not be silent,
however, and said, "Ah, 1 cannot work much
more, and that OF all grieves me before going"
The same persistent idea of work that marked
the young Scotch lad as he came into the
world was with the European octogenarian as
he was going ont of it. Work to Caryle-true
work--has been his gospel of life. By his side
on little table also of cane or bamboo struct-
ure like unto the chair in which he reclned,
there were slips of paper, as if notes on some-
thing OF the past, or perhaps Of the future by
shaggy eyebrows with the deep fire of his de-
parting soul, earnestly, seriously, and almost
savagely. His thin, scraggy, scrawny face,
with coarse; gray, grizzly beard, his com.
the inner man of youth fighting with the outer
one of decay. His thin, bony, expressive
hands make all his sledge hammer
sentences come to my memory, and 1 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 encased those wiery
hands with knitted woolen mittens so large
and so loose that all the electrical expressive
ness of the hands was instantly gone. L re-
membered at once all the force of what Sir
Arthur Helps wrote on great hands and their
greatness OF expression" Not large and loose
hands; great ones. Carlyle wore a black vel
vet skull cap, which did not improve his ap-
pearance, and around his body had his favorite
plaid shawl. Il am not ILL never was ILL.,"
said he, in his emphatic and broad Scotch ac-
cent, somewhat pettishly, if not peevishly; II
am only going-going-going!' And his eyes
lost their grim fire of expression, his emph attic,
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 admiration The room was small, and
the fire made the temperature oppressive, yet
the icy manner of the "Sage of Chelsea" re-
lieved the atmospheric oppression on our lungs.
saw some few books around, chiefly in the
German language. A small bust of William
of Orange and one of Peter the Great were
readily discernible, while al engraving or two
of Scotch scenery made the rest of the orna-
mentation of the close and we'll closed room.
In taking leave of the great old man he said
feeby: $50 on, and work with all your will
uproot error" shook the feeble and nit
tened hand, and left Thomas Carlyle, who in
the flesh may soon leave u.s. but in the spirit
will ever remain.