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For three successive years he delivered courses of lectures in London on literary subjects; but public speaking was very distasteful to him, and he unwillingly consented to do so as a means of obtaining much-needed money. For the last thirty years of his life Carlyle was a celebrity. His writings had wielded. immense influence both in England and America, and his house in Cheyne Row continues to be the Mecca of many literary pilgrimages. Carlyle's intense honesty to some degree excused his harshness and frequent injustice. The vigor of his thought was clothed in a style which has been the occasion of many fierce debates. It has been said that in writing the "French Revolution" he painted the picture of that terrible conflict "in lightning flashes."
Underneath his frequent errors of judgment and his harsh expression there was a soul of exquisite tenderness, and beneath the dyspeptic growling and constant surface discouragement, a high and noble courage. When he had loaned the manuscript of the first volume of the "French Revolution" to James Mill, and a careless servant had burned it, "it was," he says, "as if the great Teacher had torn my copy when I showed it, and said, 'No, boy; thou must write it better.''
The life of Thomas Carlyle is full of interest. No biography should be more thoughtfully or more generally studied. His writings have the rare faculty of awakening thought, and if the intellectual forces of our time are moving in a higher plane to nobler ends, it is largely due to the life and labors of this great man.
HEIR works follow them : as I think this Oliver Cromwell's works have done and are still doing! We have had our "Revolutions of Eighty-eight," officially called glorious"; and other Revolutions not yet called glorious; and somewhat has been gained for poor Mankind. Men's ears are not now slit off by rash Officiality; Officiality will, for long henceforth, be more cautious about men's ears. The tyrannous Star-Chambers, branding-irons, chimerical Kings and Surplices at All-hallowtide, they are gone, or with immense velocity going. Oliver's works do follow him! The works of a man, bury them under what guano-mountains and obscene owl-droppings you will, do not perish, can not perish. What of Heroism, what of Eternal Light was in a Man and his Life, is with very great exactness added to the Eternities; remains forever a new divine portion of the Sum of Things; and no owl's voice, this way or that, in
the least avails in the matter-But we have to end here.
Oliver is gone: and with him England's Puritanism, laboriously built together by this man, and made a thing far-shining, miraculous to its Century, and memorable to all the Centuries, soon goes. Puritanism, without its King, is kingless, anarchic; falls into dislocation, selfcollision; staggers, plunges into ever deeper anarchy; King, Defender of the Puritan Faith, there can now none be found;—and nothing but to recall the old discrowned Defender with the remnant of his Four Surplices, and two Centuries of Hypocrisis (or Play-acting not so-called), and put up with all that, the best we may. The Genius of England no longer soars Sunward, world-defiant, like an Eagle through the storms, "mewing her mighty youth," as John Milton saw her do the Genius of England, much like a greedy Ostrich intent on provender and a whole
skin mainly, stands with its other extremity Sunward, with its Ostrich-head stuck into the readiest bush, of old Church-tippets, King-cloaks, or what other "sheltering Fallacy" there may be, and so "there may be, and so awaits the issue. The issue has been slow; but it is now seen to have been inevitable. No Ostrich,
intent on gross terrene provender, and sticking its head into Fallacies, but will be awakened one day— in terrible a-posteriori manner, if not otherwise !Awake before it come to that; gods and men bid us awake! The Voices of our Fathers, with thousandfold stern monition to one and all, bid us awake.
CARLYLE ON OR one or two or three and twenty years of my mortal life I was not conscious of the ownership of that diabolical arrangement called a Stomach. I had been destined by my father and my father's minister to be myself a Minister of the Kirk of Scotland. But, now that I had gained the years of man's estate, I was not sure that I believed the doctrines of my father's Kirk, and it was needful that I should now settle it. And so I entered into my chamber and closed the door. And around about me there came a trooping throng of phantoms dire, from the abysmal
depths of nethermost perdition. Doubt, Fear, Unbelief, Mockery, and Scoffing were there, and I wrestled with them in the travail and agony of spirit. Thus was it for weeks. Whether I ate I know not; whether I slept I know not; but I only know that when I came forth again beneath the glimpses of the moon, it was with the direful persuasion that I was the miserable owner of a diabolical apparatus called a Stomach. And I never have been free from that knowledge from that hour to this; and I suppose that I never shall be until I am laid away in my grave.
FROM AN ADDRESS TO THE STUDENTS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.
IF you will believe me, you who are young, yours is the golden season of life. As you have heard it called, so it verily is, the seed-time of life, in which, if you do not sow, or if you sow tares instead of wheat, you can not expect to reap well afterward,-you will bitterly repent when it is too late. The habits of study acquired at universities are of the highest importance in after-life. At the season when you are young in years, the whole mind is, as it were, fluid, and is capable of forming itself into any shape that the owner of the mind pleases to let it, or order it to form itself into. Pursue your studies in the way your conscience calls honest. Keep an actual separation between what you have really come to know in your own minds and what is still unknown. Count a thing known only when it is stamped on your mind so that you may survey it on all sides with intelligence. There is such a thing as a man endeavoring to persuade himself, and endeavoring to persuade others, that he knows about things, when he does not know more than
the outside skin of them; and yet he goes flourishing about with them. Avoid all that as entirely unworthy of an honorable mind. Gradually see what kind of work you can do; for it is the first of all problems for a man to find out what kind of work he is to do in this universe.
A man is born to expend every particle of strength that God has given him in doing the work he finds he is fit for-to stand up to it to the last breath of life, and to do his best. We are called upon to do that; and the reward we all get is that we have got the work done, or, at least, that we have tried to do the work. For this is a great blessing in itself; and, I should say, there is not very much more reward than that going in this world. If the man gets meat and clothes, what matters it whether he have ten thousand pounds or seventy pounds a year? He can get meat and clothes for that; and he will find very little difference, intrinsically, if he is a wise
Finally, gentlemen, I have one advice to give
you, which is practically of very great importance, -that health is a thing to be attended to continually, that you are to regard that as the very highest of all temporal things. There is no kind of achievement you could make in the world that is equal to perfect health. What to it are nuggets and millions? The French financier said, "Alas! why is there no sleep to be sold?" Sleep is not in
the market at any quotation. It is a curious thing that the old word for "holy"-in the German language, heilig—also means "healthy." Look, then, always at the heilig, which means "healthy" as well as "holy." Stand up to your work, whatever it may be, and be not afraid of it,—not in sorrows or contradiction to yield, but push on toward the goal.
CLOTHES AND THEIR SIGNIFICANCE.
|LL visible things are Emblems; what thou | Beauty, with Curses, and the like. Nay, if you seest is not there on its own account; strictly taken, it is not there at all. Matter exists only spiritually, and to represent some Idea, and body it forth. Hence Clothes, despicable as we think them, are so unspeakably significant. Clothes, from the King's mantle downward, are Emblematic, not of want only, but of a manifold cunning Victory over Want. On the other hand, all Emblematic things are properly Clothes, thought-❘ woven or hand-woven. Must not the Imagination weave Garments, visible Bodies, wherein the else invisible creations and inspirations of our Reason are, like Spirits, revealed, and first become allpowerful; the rather if, as we often see, the Hand, too, aid her, and (by wool Clothes or otherwise) reveal such even to the outward eye? Men are said to be clothed with Authority, clothed with
consider it, what is Man himself and his whole terrestrial Life, but an Emblem; a Clothing or visible Garment for that divine Me of his, cast hither, like a light-particle, down from Heaven. Thus is he said also to be clothed with a Body. .. Why multiply instances? It is written, The Heavens and the Earth shall fade away like a Vesture; which indeed they are: the Time-vesture of the Eternal. Whatsoever sensibly exists, whatsoever represents Spirit to Spirit, is properly a Clothing, a suit of Raiment, put on for a season, and to be laid off. Thus in this one pregnant subject of Clothes, rightly understood, is included all that men have thought, dreamed, done, and been. The whole External Universe, and what it holds, is but Clothing; and the essence of all Science lies in the Philosophy of Clothes.
THE EVERLASTING YEA.
AN'S Unhappiness, as I construe, comes of his Greatness; it is because there is an Infinite in him, which with all his cunning he can not quite bury under the Finite. Will the whole Finance Ministers and Upholsterers and Confectioners of modern Europe undertake, in joint-stock company, to make one Shoeblack happy? They can not accomplish it, above an hour or two; for the Shoeblack also has a Soul quite other than his Stomach; and would require, if you consider it, for his permanent satisfaction and saturation, simply this allotment, no more, and no less: God's infinite Universe altogether to
himself therein to enjoy infinitely, and fill every wish as fast as it rose. Oceans of Hochheimer, a Throat like that of Ophiuchus: speak not of them; to the infinite Shoeblack they are as nothing. No sooner is your ocean filled, than he grumbles that it might have been of better vintage. Try him with half of a Universe, of an Omnipotence, he sets to quarreling with the proprietor of the other half, and declares himself the most maltreated of men. Always there is a black spot in our sunshine: it is even, as I said, the Shadow of Ourselves.
"But the whim we have of Happiness is somewhat thus. By certain valuations, and averages,
of our own striking, we come upon some sort of average terrestrial lot; this we fancy belongs to us by nature, and of indefeasible right. It is simple payment of our wages, of our deserts; requires neither thanks nor complaint: only such overplus as there may be do we account Happiness; any deficit again is Misery. Now consider that we have the valuation of our own deserts ourselves, and what a fund of Self-conceit there is in each of us,-do you wonder that the balance should so often dip the wrong way, and many a Blockhead cry: See there, what a payment; was ever worthy gentleman so used!-I tell thee, Blockhead, it all comes of thy Vanity; of what thou fanciest those same deserts of thine to be. Fancy that thou deservest to be hanged (as is most likely), thou wilt feel it happiness to be only shot; fancy that thou deservest to be hanged in a hair-halter, it will be a luxury to die in hemp.
ORATORY AND LITERATURE.
ET the young English soul, in whatever | Appeal by silent work, by silent suffering, if there logic shop and nonsense-verse establish- be no work, to the gods, who have nobler seats ment he may be getting his young idea than in the Cabinet for thee. taught how to speak and spout, and print sermons and review articles, and thereby show himself and his fond patrons that it is an idea-lay this solemnly to heart; this is my deepest counsel to him! The idea you have once spoken, even if it were an idea, is no longer yours; it is gone from you; so much life and virtue is gone, and the vital circulations of yourself and your destiny and activity are henceforth deprived of it. If you could not get it spoken, if you could still constrain it into silence, so much the richer are you. Better keep your idea while you can; let it circulate in your blood, and there fructify; inarticulately inciting you to good activities; giving to your whole spiritual life a ruddier health. . . Be not a Public Orator, thou brave young British man, thou that art now growing up to be something; not a Stump-Orator if thou canst help it. Appeal not to the vulgar, with its long ears and seats in the Cabinet; not by spoken words to the vulgar; hate the profane vulgar, and bid it begone. I
Talent for Literature, thou hast such a talent? Believe it not, be slow to believe it! To speak or write, Nature did not peremptorily order thee but to work she did. And know this: there never was a talent even for real Literature-not to speak of talents lost and damned in doing sham Literature, but was primarily a talent for doing something infinitely better of the silent kind. Of Literature, in all ways, be shy rather than otherwise at present. There where thou art, work, work; whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it— with the hand of a man, not of a phantasm; be that thy unnoticed blessedness and exceeding great reward. Thy words,-let them be few, and well-ordered. Love silence rather than speech in these days, when, for very speaking, the voice of man has fallen inarticulate to man; and hearts, in this loud babbling, sit dark and dumb toward one another. Witty: above all, O be not witty; none of us is bound to be witty, under penalties; to be wise and true we all are, under the terriblest penalties!
CRITIC OF ART, AND MEN, AND MANNERS.
HE prose of John Ruskin is probably the smoothest and most musical in the language. He himself says that he has been compelled to guard against his faculty of "stringing words somewhat prettily together," believing that he was thus in danger of sacrificing the strength and force of his statements; but the reader must acknowledge that the beauty of expression and the melodious sound of his pages give them a quality all their own, and, far from weakening them, give them a new power and effect. Ruskin has written principally upon painting and architecture, though his later works, many of which were originally delivered as lectures, are chiefly devoted to morals, and sometimes, to political economy. In the last field he has been less fortunate than in either of the others. To speak of his books as criticisms of art and architecture is, however, very misleading, for his real interest was in ethics and philosophy, and these are the topics which are of vital importance in his writings, whether he talks of buildings or pictures or crystallization. His principal work has been to call attention to the merits of the school of modern painters, of which Turner is the chief; to elevate and ennoble popular conceptions of art and architecture; and to do much to form good taste in literature in the very wide circles of those who have read his books or heard his lectures.
He was born in London in 1819, and was the son of a prosperous wine merchant. He gained the prize at Oxford for English poetry, and in his early manhood wrote no little verse. His principal works have been "Modern Painters, The Seven Lamps of Architecture," "The Stones of Venice," "King of a Golden River: a Fairy Tale," "Edinburgh Lectures on Architecture,' ""The Two Paths," Unto this Last," "Munera Pulveris," "Sesame and Lilies," "The Ethics of the Dust," "Crown of Wild Olives," "Fors Clavigera," "Arata Pentelici," and "Præterita." He has held lectureships on the fine arts at both Cambridge and Oxford, but in recent years his mental vigor has given away.
The book "Sesame and Lilies" is two lectures, the first of which is upon the general topic of books and reading; sesame being the magic word to open, and the lecture being intended to open the king's treasuries, as he calls them, of good books locked up in our libraries. In "The Ethics of the Dust" are ten lectures on crystallization delivered to a girls' school.