Public ledger. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1865-1893, 1880-11-05

c%ivious lust and plucked off the visor
IRON grim sssson's face |
made up my mind. to call and
personally learn at Carlvle's
house his condition. Years ago had
a letter Of introduction to him from a
literary light Of Boston, and | recalled
with some m~isgivings my chances OF
seeing the old man of perpetual
fame. Then it took me days TO see the
sage of Chelsea How could / hone
to see the philosopher of Cheyne
Rowe now in a moment? But l 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 you how he really is" l
remarked. The servant did so, re-
turned, and to my delight 1 was
ushered up stairs to- sort Of semi
boudoir, where, seated in a large,
square, half-recumbent chair, / found
the great writer, thinker, reformer.
We were soon Joined by his niece, a
calm and thoughtful looking little
lady, who said | might talk but "he
must not Thomas Carlyle could
not be silent however, and said: "Ah,
| can not work much more, and that
Of all g~rieyes me before going" The
persistent idea Of work that marked
the young Scotch lad ss he came into
the world was with the European oc-
togenarian philosopher as he was 60
ing out of. Work to Carlyle-true
work-has been his gospel Of life. By
his side, ON a little table, also of
cane or bamboo structure,
like unto the chair in which
he reclined, there were slips of paper,
as if notes on something of the past or
perhaps Of the future by this brave
old man. He looked out and from
under his shaggy eyebrows with the
deep fire of his departing soul, ear
nestly, seriously and almost savagely.
His thin, scraggy, scrawny face, with
coarse, gray, grizzly beard, his com
pressed determined lips, made a dual
picture of the inner mar 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 | could then and
now quote pages ofthem by sheer en-
thusiasm. Presently his niece reap
peared and said; La me, you've taken
off the mittens.' Thereupou she en-
cased those wiry hands with knitted
wooden mittens so large and so loose
that all the electrical expressiyeness
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
expression. Not large and loose
hands great ones. Carlyle wore a
black velvet skull cap, which did not
improve his appearance, and around
his body had his favorite plaid shawl.
Il am not I'LL never was ILL.," said
he, in his emphatic and broad Scotch
accent, somewhat pettishly, if not
peeyishly 81 am only going-going-
going-golngP And his eyes lost
their grim fire of expression, his EN-
phatic, rasping voice fell into q
low tone, and | sat silent
before the only living man worthy Of
my silence; the only nan when dead
ever worthy of my loud admiration
The room was small, and the fire made
the temperature oppressive, yet the
icy manner of the Sage Of Chelsea
relieved the atmospheric oppression
on our lungs. | saw some few books
around, chiefly in the German Ian
guage. A small bust Of William of
Orange and one of Peter the Great
were readily discernible, while an en-
craving or two of Scotch scenery made
the rest of the ornamentation of the
close and well CLOSED room. In tax
ing my leave of the great old man he
said feebly: 60 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.