The Portland daily press., 1881-03-02

To know Mr.. Carlyle was such an event that
the least particulars impressed themselves on
my memory, such as that it rained in torrents
and the cabman who was waiting at the hotel
in Piccadilly grumbled at having to drive as
far as Chelsea-a matter of twenty minutes.
So humble are the surroundings and the house
itself, that years afterward when 1 took Ger
man-American friend to call on Mr.. Carlyle,
? looked about him in wonder as we stopped
at the door and asked, half incredulously:
"Does so great man live in so little house?"
A similar remark had been made before in
still more sententious form by the Shah of
Persia, who, when taken to Pembroke Lodge
in Richmond Park. to see the late Earl Rus
SELL observed: "Great man, little house."
The neighborhood now is not much better off
or worse than it was in 1866. Cheyne Walk,
indeed, is much more splendid affair than
then; the enhancement having since been COM
pleted, and all along the river side imposing
mansions built. But this stream of prosperity
has not turned aside into quieter hooks. The
house in which Mr.. Carlyle lived then, and in
which he died Saturday morning is that which
he chose on first settling in London in 1884. A
maid servant answered the bell, and was
shown into room ON the left of the narrow
passage on the ground floor. The room was
dimly lighted A lady came forward whom L
afterward knew as Mr.. Carlyle's niece Miss
Aitken. and said in whisper thats.Mr. Carlyle
was still asleep, but that he expected me, and
1 was to wait. On the left of the door against
the wall, was sofa, and on the sofa was Mr..
Carlyle. He soon woke, and introduced my
self. Miss Aitken having vanished. Now had
heard before coming to England an awkward
story or two of Mr.. Carlyle's odd way of re-
ceiving strangers, Americans, it was said
with less welcome than others; and Though 1
knew very we'll that Mr.. Emerson's introduc-
ton was the best could have, was not over
confident of a cordial greeting. But / found
that in this as in some other points, the Car
lyle of common report and the actual Carlyle
were two different persons. His hearty way of
saying: "Eh! and so you'rea a friend OF MIR.
Emerson and his outstretched hand were
quite enough to put shy man at his ease. Not
even in America had ever seen anybody to
whom ordinary social usages were more obvi-
ously Indifferent II was the hour when Lon
don dimes, and in order to dine arrays itself in
swallow-tail and white tie. Mr.. Carlyle had
dined early and the tall figure that rose from
the osfa, was clad in dressing-gown of a red
rattern that reached below his knees. He
questioned me eagerly about Emerson about
his health and whether he meant to come to
England again; and how soon; and whether
his fame at home grew, and his books sold.
His manner as he spoke OF Mr.. Emerson was
the same afterward when he went back to that
topic, as he often did. AS soon as he had sat
isfied the first keenness of his curiosity for the
latest news about his friend, he said he usually
took walk at this hour, and would L go with
him? l remembered the pouring rain, and
wondered if he would go out in it; but the
weather was thing to which, as / found later,
he gave no thought. By the time he had put
on a coat and hat and seized a big stick, it
rained no longer. 1t was quite dark, and it
had for long been Mr.. Carlyle's habit to take
his walks, which the English would call his
constitutionals, after the sun had gone down.
He did not seem to care for the river, and the
fresh currents of air which blew freely along
its banks. His steps were bent toward the
quieter corners of quiet old Chelsea. 1t was a
pleasure to note his firm, swift stride. His
pace was such as few men past seventy would
have cared ia set, and he maintained it to the
end. The stream of talk ran not less swiftly.
Kindly and friendly as he was to me, out of
the depth of his regard for the friend whose
letter had brought, he was then and often
afterward when l saw him, in hollow and
despairing and hostile mood with reference to
the world in general. He discoursed on Lon
don and Londoners, Storming against the
sordid and hollow life by which he was sur
rounded, complaining of the very houses amid
which he took his devious way. They were
built, he said, to tumble down in ninety years.
The tenant had only ninety-nine years lease
from the landlord who owned the ground: he
could not afford to build solidly and honestly;
his architect had learned to run up wall
which would stand just long enough not to be-
Como tuo prOpcrty VI tuo ldHuioru, computing
that the wall should fall down before the lease
fell in. Yes, it was more the fault of the land
lord than the tenant, but it was DEVILS sys-
tenn all through, and the devil had sure grip
on tenant and landlord both. And what did it
matter? They are just parcel of pigs roofing
in the mire; and so on. With all this were
mingled flashes of kindly humor and human
sympathy which lit up the gloom and at times
almost savage hopeessness of his temper at
the moment This lasted for perhaps half an
hour.
KIND WORDS FOR AMERICA.
1t was past nine when we returned. The
candles had been lighted. The fire--for though
it was August fire had been kindled-blazed
cheerfully. The table was spread; the tea was
\ made and keeping hot under its Scotch ''co-