generally in quite weak health, too, and was often, for long weeks or months, miserably ill. . . .

It was strange how she contrived to sift out of such a troublous forlorn day as hers, in such case, was, all the available little items; as she was sure to do, and to have them ready for me in the evening when my work was done; in the prettiest little narrative anybody could have given of such things. Never again shall I have such melodious, humanly beautiful Half-hours; they were the rainbow of my poor dripping day, — and reminded me that there otherwise was a Sun. At this time, and all along, she "did all the society;" was all brightness to the one or two (oftenest rather dull and prosaic fellows, for all the better sort respected my seclusion, especially during that last Friedrich time), whom I needed to see on my affairs in hand, or who, with more of brass than others, managed to intrude upon me: for these she did, in their several kinds, her very best; all of her own people, whom I might be apt to feel wearisome (dislike any of them I never did, or his or her discharge from service would have swiftly followed), she kept beautifully out of my way, saving my "politeness" withal: a very perfect skill she had in all this. And took my dark toiling periods, however long sullen and severe they might be, with a loyalty and heart-acquiescence that never failed. The heroic little soul!

Latter-Day Pamphlet time, and especially the time that preceded it (1848 etc.) must have been very sore and heavy: my heart was long overloaded with the meanings at length uttered there, and no way of getting them set forth would answer. I forget what ways I tried, or thought of; Times Newspaper was one (alert, airy, rather vacant editorial gentleman I remember going to once, in Printing House Square); but this way of course, proved hypothetical merely, as all others did, till we, as last shift, gave the rough MSS. to Chapman (in Forster's company one winter Sunday). About half of the ultimately printed might be in Chapman's hands; but there was much manipulation as well as addition needed. Forster soon fell away, I could perceive, into terror and surprise; as indeed everybody did: "A lost man!" thought everybody. Not she at any moment; much amused by the outside pother, she; and glad to see me getting delivered of my black electricities and consuming fires, in that way. Strange letters

came to us, during those nine months of pamphleteering; strange visitors (of moonstruck unprofitable type for most part), who had, for one reason or another, been each of them wearing himself half-mad on some one of the public scandals I was recognizing and denouncing. I still remember some of their faces, and the look their paper bundles had. She got a considerable entertainment out of all that; went along with me in everything (probably counselling a little here and there; a censorship well worth my regarding, and generally adoptable, here as everywhere); and minded no whit any results that might follow this evident speaking of the truth. Somebody, writing from India I think, and clearly meaning kindness, "did hope" (some time afterwards) "the tide would turn, and this lamentable Hostility of the Press die away into friendship again; " at which I remember our innocent laughter, ignorant till then what "The Press's" feelings were, and leaving "The Press" very welcome to them then. Neuberg helped me zealously, as volunteer amanuensis etc., through all this business; but I know not that even he approved it all, or any of it to the bottom. In the whole world I had one complete Approver; in that, as in other cases, one; and it was worth all.

On the back of Latter-Day Pamphlets followed Life of Sterling; a very quiet thing; but considerably disapproved of too, as I learned; and utterly revolting to the Religious people in particular (to my surprise rather than otherwise): "Doesn't believe in us, then, either?" Not he, for certain; can't, if you will know! Others urged disdainfully, "What has Sterling done that he should have a Life?" "Induced Carlyle somehow to write him one!" answered she once (to the Ferguses, I think) in an arch airy way, which I can well fancy; and which shut up the question there. The book was afterwards greatly praised, —again, on rather weak terms, I doubt. What now will please me best in it, and alone will, was then an accidental quality, the authentic light, under the due conditions, that is thrown by it on her. Oh, my Dear One; sad is my soul for the loss of Thee, and will to the end be, as I compute! Lonelier creature there is not henceforth in this world; neither person, work, nor thing going on in it that is of any value, in comparison, or even at all. Death I feel almost daily in express

fact, Death is the one haven; and have occasionally a kind of kingship, sorrowful, but sublime, almost godlike, in the feeling that that is nigh. Sometimes the image of Her, gone in her car of victory (in that beautiful death), and as if nodding to me with a smile, "I am gone, loved one; work a little longer, if thou still canst; if not, follow! There is no baseness, and no misery here. Courage, courage to the last!"-that, sometimes, as in this moment, is inexpressibly beautiful to me, and comes nearer to bringing tears than it once did.

In 1852 had come the new-modelling of our House; - attended with infinite dusty confusion (head-carpenter stupid, though honest, fell ill, etc. etc.); confusion falling upon her more than me, and at length upon her altogether. She was the architect, guiding and directing and contriving genius, in all that enterprise, seemingly so foreign to her. But, indeed, she was ardent in it; and she had a talent that way which was altogether unique in my experience. An "eye" first of all; equal in correctness to a joiner's square, this, up almost from her childhood, as I understood. Then a sense of order, sense of beauty, of wise and thrifty convenience; sense of wisdom altogether in fact; for that was it! A human intellect shining luminous in every direction, the highest and the lowest (as I remarked above); in childhood she used to be sent to seek when things fell lost; "the best seeker of us all," her Father would say, or look (as she thought): for me also she sought everything, with such success as I never saw elsewhere. It was she who widened our poor drawing-room (as if by a stroke of genius) and made it (zealously, at the partial expense of three feet from her own bedroom) into what it now is, one of the prettiest little drawing-rooms I ever saw, and made the whole house into what it now is. How frugal, too, and how modest about it! House was hardly finished, when there arose that of the "Demon-Fowls," - as she appropriately named them: macaws, Cochin-chinas, endless concert of crowing, cackling, shrieking roosters (from a bad or misled neighbour, next door) which cut us off from sleep or peace, at times altogether, and were like to drive me mad, and her through me, through sympathy with me. From which also she was my deliverer, — had delivered and contrived to deliver me from hundreds of such things (Oh, my beautiful little Alcides,

in the new days of Anarchy and the Mud-gods, threatening to crush down a poor man, and kill him with his work still on hand!) I remember well her setting off, one winter morning, from the Grange on this enterprise; - probably having thought of it most of the night (sleep denied), she said to me next morning the first thing: "Dear, we must extinguish those Demon-Fowls, or they will extinguish us! Rent the house (No. 6, proprietor mad etc. etc.) ourselves; it is but some 40l. a year,— pack away those vile people, and let it stand empty. I will go this very day upon it, if you assent!" And she went accordingly; and slew altogether this Lerna Hydra; at far less expense than taking the house, nay almost at no expense at all, except by her fine intellect, tact, just discernment, swiftness of decision, and general nobleness of mind (in short). Oh, my bonny little woman; mine only in memory now!

I left the Grange two days after her, on this occasion; hastening through London, gloomy of mind; to see my dear old Mother yet once (if I might) before she died. She had, for many months before, been evidently and painfully sinking away, under no disease, but the ever-increasing infirmities of eighty-three years of time. She had expressed no desire to see me; but her love from my birth upwards, under all scenes and circumstances, I knew to be emphatically a Mother's. I walked from the Kirtle-bridge ("Galls") Station that dim winter morning; my one thought, "Shall I see her yet alive?" She was still there; weary, very weary, and wishing to be at rest. I think she only at times knew me; so bewildering were her continual distresses; once she entirely forgot me; then, in a minute or two, asked ah me! my pardon ah me! It was my Mother and not my Mother; the last pale rim or sickle of the moon, which had once been full, now sinking in the dark seas. This lasted only three days. Saturday night she had her full faculties, but was in nearly unendurable misery; not breath sufficient etc., etc.: John tried various reliefs, had at

give a few drops of laudanum, which eased the misery, and in an hour or two brought sleep. All next day she lay asleep, breathing equally but heavily, her face grand and solemn, almost severe, like a marble statue; about four P.M. the breathing suddenly halted; recommenced for half an instant, then fluttered,

- ceased.1 "All the days of my appointed time," she had often said, "will I wait, till my change come." The most beautifully religious soul I ever knew. Proud enough she was too, though piously humble; and full of native intellect, humour, etc., though all undeveloped. On the religious side, looking into the very heart of the matter, I always reckon her rather superior to my Jane, who in other shapes and with far different exemplars and conditions, had a great deal of noble religion too. Her death filled me with a kind of dim amazement, and crush of confused sorrows, which were very painful, but not so sharply pathetic as I might have expected. It was the earliest terror of my childhood that I "might lose my Mother;" and it had gone with me all my days: - But, and that is probably the whole account of it, I was then sunk in the miseries of Friedrich etc. etc., in many miseries; and was then fifty-eight years of age. It is strange to me, in these very days, how peaceable, though still sacred and tender, the memory of my Mother now lies in me. (This very morning, I got into dreaming confused nightmare stuff about some funeral and her; not hers, nor obviously my Jane's, seemingly my Father's rather, and she sending me on it, the saddest bewildered stuff. What a dismal debasing and confusing element is that of a sick body on the human soul or thinking part!)

It was in 1852 (September-October, for about a month) that I had first seen Germany, — gone on my first errand as to Friedrich: there was a second, five years afterwards; this time it was to inquire (of Preuss and Co.); to look about me, search for books, portraits, etc. etc. I went from Scotsbrig (my dear old Mother painfully weak, though I had no thought it would be the last time I should see her afoot); - from Scotsbrig by Leith for Rotterdam, Köln, Bonn (Neuberg's); - and on the whole never had nearly so (outwardly) unpleasant a journey in my life; till the second and last I made thither. But the Chelsea establishment was under carpenters, painters; till those disappeared, no work possible, scarcely any living possible (though my brave woman did make it possible without complaint): "Stay so many weeks, all painting at least shall then be off!" I returned, near broken-down utterly, at the set time; and alas, was met by a foul dabblement of paint oozing

1 Carlyle's mother died at Scots brig, Ecclefechan, December 25, 1853.