The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1895-12-25
CARLYLE CRITICISED BY a COOK.
He Paid too Little Heed TO what He
Had to Eat TO BE Really Great.


George Bernard Shaw, the dramatic
critic, reveals to the Westminster Ga
zette, what he calls THE Secret of Car
lyle" He says:
We have guarded IT jealousy for thirty
years When the sage died. we held it in
violate; when Mrs. Carlyle's letters were
~ every Dodys mouth, we Rugged ii, and
gave no sign. Even when Mr.. Reginald
bIuht came TO call upon US, we kept one
looF closed, behind which he might not
I T9S toI course, we speak in METAPHOR.
we loved to think, privately, and in the
bosom OF our family, that we possessed
one INK OF rapport with the CARLYLE house
hoio winch was unshared and unguessed
Dy All the world-a link of such astoslnd-
ing nature, too, as made US positively
AKIN 10 the sage of Chelsea Tables and
cnalrs, a nat, and hip bath were all
very Well, but we've had Carlvle's cook
ODDLY enough, it was long before my
Shelsea days, which now seem like all the
Gays OF my life, that, in the early sixties.
q stuot, elderly Lincolnshire person, with
q noMSly, square face, and a homely,
square body, much increased by the pre-
Nalilhs gathers of the day, came as
COOK 70 our country situation
AT first she was looked uDon with ma
tural doubt-she camAfrom Bohemia. She
had been job and she had freouentIy
Topped in an authors house, the author 5
VIE giving her reference. She was. in
fact, the good Mrs. NJ the dear old N
OF mrs. Carlyle's letters and had Obliged
the Carlyles in many an emergency, and
hCtpSA AAeAu Win culinary art InanV
rough place To Go her Justice she new
er goss1pped of what she must have wit
messed of their somewhat ruffled home life
She was not woman of many words, but
those she did use had a flavor all their
own, born, l am inclined to think of Lin
colnshire and mother wit and not aca1lir-
ed Carlylese. When she grew to trust US
she No1nteered an opinion of her late mas
ter ana mistress. IN born, though 1 amt
buried yet, mum, but I don't never ex-
pect TO see such a saint as Mrs. Carlyle
tFT
lshe always called him that) he was the
1ustest man ever knew. Make him see
the reason, and he'd give in-but not till he
was consalvent of his Indigestion
We grew TO understand that 'consal-
vent meant 'convalescent, Just as we
knew that 'vonvola,' a dish which Mrs
carlyle Early e, thought too extravageant,' is rel
ished by gastronomes as a, 'vol-au-vent.'
1t was no good cooking for the mars
ter-he didn't notice his food. Mrs Car
lyle would have liked things more tasty,
but they had to be frugal. When he was
writing Frederic he had books and maps
on the floor of his room, and often say
on the floor comparing them. Then he
would nave dinner brought up to him, and,
putting dish down on the ground beside
MIN, would take spoonfuls of it without
intervention of private plate or fork.
!" I've seen him eat a whole rice pud-
ding this way-not rice pudding made
with eggs-that he said, was messy
but rice and milk baked in the oven five
hours or more.
| distinction hitherto try Mrs. Ms receipt
its as rich as creases,' as she always
averred. Mrs. N. confessed that ii had
I been a struggle for her to leave the little
house in Cheyne Row, but its simplicity
gave no scope for her talents, and an es-
Establishment where cooking was of mo ac-
count was not the place for her-eVen
where a saint held the keys. She returned
to the Carlyles again and again, and often
remained in their service a year at a
time; but at last, in. the middle sixties,
she left London forever, and, CHANGING on
our country situation, filled it honorably
till her death.
{" 1T wasn't that I didn't respect and
love them she would say, excusing her
self for what she obviously felt was de-
sertion of Mrs. Carlyle, but the truth
was, mum, / felt must have more ma
terials and more notice took of what 1
sent up for myself, 1 don't look at what
/ take-cooks don't, though 1 confess
pensively), to being partially wrapped up
in slice of lean pork; but gentlefolks
ought toseare.s
taught us the lesson of caring which has
been our torment and our treasure ever
since. But you could not teach it to the
Marster.'
There you have it, our Carlyle secret
"a poor thing, but mine own. "