Fort Worth daily gazette. (Fort Worth, Tex.) 1882-1891, 1890-08-24

| tory, and after few vicious kicks at the
door departed, giving me opportunity to
| reach the house just as the huge form
and red, veinous face OF Mrs. John
Gourley, care-taker, appeared at the
door. Shaking fine bludgeon after the
vanishing Migrants she relieved her in
dlgnatiou with: "Hootsl It's weary
day for auld Scotland whan there's na
body u fend a hoose like this frae tina
low English beggarsl' and then, in
radiant expectancy of low English ''sax-
penoes, babe me enter
There is but one room below stairs.
In the upper story there Is a room the
same size as that on the first floor. This
Is retained as sort of showroom,
and is well enough filled to be interesting
with Carlyle relics, including his famous
coffee pot in which he was wont to brew
his own coffee and his equally tobacco
cutter-handmaids OF the Cheyne Row,
Chelsea, inspiration, and inseparaGle
companions of his Feasibility aud dys-
pepsia or this little chamber and
sitting room, in which is set q quaint old
fireplace, is a little, long, low bedroom
over the archway; and in this Thomas
Carlyle was born. Altogether the place
Is uuinvting, meager, hard, austere.
born, irascible; flinty as the Scotch
granite in which he wrought as a stone
mason, truly s'ill to thole,'' as the
bent back old guidwife, who knew him,
go aptly described the family. Disasso-
ciating the man Thomas Carlyle from
the heroism of his lofty work, you cam
not come to one spot made warm, ten
der and glowing for his having been
part of 1t; and the dreary old kirk-yard
where he lies, but q few steps from
where he was born, intensifies the feel
ing that something of the human and
humane was lacking. or was denied, his
whole line. There does not seem TO be
one soul in all the region where he was
born and reared who recalls the family
name with loving kindness and respect.
To be known as pilgrim to the Carlyle
home and tomb is to be re-
garded with suspicion aud sneers. The
very grave stone is parsimonious and
shabby; the enclosure unkempt; weeds
and brambles crowd the spot closely;
the lad that unlocks the gate smokers
behind you; and as l stood for little
time leaning upon the IRON railing in
contemplation of the lonely, neglected
grave of this rare old warrior in the field
of letters, wondering, after ali, If any
above the heads and hearts of the lowly
that they are not reached, aided and en-
comprised by it; bevy of rosy-chesked,
roguish-eyed Scotch lassies passed; and
regarding me with hilarious scorn for
overlooking the merits of Ecclefechan
itself for dismal lettering where the
hearts of none here turned, one fair
maiden applied to certain disciple OF
Carlyle such sturdy words of badinage as
might well bewilder the bravest pilgrim
to shrines in foreign lands.
AT ECCLEFECHAE.
Musiug lone one summer morning
In al ancient Scottish kirk yard
By the grave of rare old Carlyle,
Reverent bowed and deep in dreaming
Suddenly there passed a maiden
Passed, but paused. Then. smiling quoth she:
''There's no yon but stanes an bromblesi
Muccle mair's in Ecclefechan!"
Then the roguish maiden vanished
From the place of stones and brambles,
And left the dank old kirk yard
With the lesson of her scorning:
Keep thy soul from out the shadows;
Turn thy life from graves to gladnessl
This though but hint in living,
This learned at Ecclefechan.
EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.