CHAPTER XXIII.

CHELSEA ANECDOTES-" JENNY KISSED ME"-NOISE AND NOCTURNAL WALKING A RUSKIN EPISODE-PEOPLE'S EDITION OF HIS WORKS-LITERARY ANA-THE BOOTMAKER AND THE TANNER SHARP SAYINGS-HIS THOUGHTS ON MAZZINI'S DEATH-OFFICIAL HONOURS -A SCOTTISH SCHOOLBOY'S VISIT-HIS LAST YEARDEATH OF CARLYLE.

MANY are the stories, humorous and pathetic, that cluster round No. 5 Cheyne Row. One of the prettiest is that relating to Leigh Hunt's graceful little poem, "Jenny Kissed Me!" Poor Hunt had come one day in hot haste to the Carlyles, to tell them of some rare bit of good fortune that had just happened either to himself or them; whereupon Mrs Carlyle sprang from her chair, threw her arms about the old poet's neck, and gave him a cordial kiss; hence the poem. That Carlyle was exceedingly sensitive to noise has been already attested by the fact that at Edinburgh the Erskines were obliged to stop the clock in his chamber while he was thinking out his Rectorial address. In the graphic sketch of Carlyle in his London home in the Englische Charakterbilder, Berlin, 1860, by Dr Frederick Althaus, one of the German translators of Carlyle's Frederick, an account is given of the historian's workshop-a large noise-proof chamber forming the top storey of the house, which he built specially for the purpose of securing quiet and

freedom from interruption. A lady residing close by kept Cochin China fowls, whose crowing was such a nuisance that Carlyle sent in a complaint. But the message of the philosopher only moved her to indignation. "Why," she exclaimed, "the fowls only crow four times a day, and how can Mr Carlyle be seriously annoyed at that ?” "The lady forgets," was his rejoinder, "the pain I suffer in waiting for those four crows." Like Dean Swift, Christopher North, Charles Dickens, and some other eminent men of letters, Carlyle was a great nocturnal pedestrian before the infirmities of old age crept upon him. His favourite beat was the riverside district in which he dwelt; he carried an enormous stick on these occasions, and walked with his eyes fixed on the ground. He kept to this habit all through the time of the garotting panic, though friends warned him that the History of Frederick, on which he was then engaged, might be suddenly cut short some night if he did not give up his midnight rambles. This walking was his specific for procuring sleep. Mr Ruskin once sent a letter to the papers on the subject of the alleged bad manners of the English people, as compared with those of the continental nations; and he stated, as an illustration of this, that Carlyle could not walk out in the streets of Chelsea without being subjected to insult by the "roughs" of that region. Carlyle at once wrote to say that there was no truth in the allegation; in fact, he penned no fewer than three notes contradicting the report, an exhibition of candour that did not pass without comment, especially among those who could recall the time when Carlyle was wont to sally forth on horseback every Wednesday

to enjoy a ride on Denmark Hill with his friend and worshipper. Not a little slanderous tattle used to appear in the papers about him. In 1870 he was pictured by some one as absolutely alone in his house at Chelsea, deserted by everybody on account of his wretched temper; the truth being that he was not in town at all, but in the country, the guest of his good friend Lady Ashburton. Mr Ruskin, the slanderers said, was the longest suffering, but he also had been compelled to give up his visits to Cheyne Row. Ruskin had been there every other day till Carlyle left town for a change of air, rendered necessary by the weak state of his health during the severe winter of 1869-70. All who visited Carlyle at the time when these reports were current invariably found him in his most amiable mood. This was especially the case in the spring of 1871, when the first volume of the "people's edition" of his collected writings made its appearance. It was to have been published on the 15th of March; but the orders poured in to such an unexpected extent, that the publishers could not supply them all at the date originally fixed; hence they had to delay the issue. The demand for the book, especially in Scotland, was beyond all their calculations, and indeed something quite unprecedented. Carlyle's surprise and his gratitude for this widespread interest in his writings among the working classes were, we had reason to know, most profound.

Of the more purely literary anecdotes, one of the best used to be told with inimitable point by Dickens. The self-confident editor of a certain weekly paper was present at a dinner-party, and had enunciated some weighty opinion on the subject under discussion, wrapping it up

in a small parcel and laying it by on a shelf as if done with for ever-and a dead silence ensued. This silence, to the astonishment of all, was broken by Carlyle looking across the table at the editor, in a dreamy way, and saying as though to himself, but in perfectly audible tones, “Eh, but you're a puir cratur, a puir, wratched, meeserable cratur!" Then, with a sigh, he relapsed into silence. To a popular young novelist, the writer of some Scottish stories, who had called upon him, he said, "When are you going to begin some honest, genuine work?" To another popular author, of the flippant Cockney sort, a wit, he said, "And when, sir, do you bring out the Comic Bible?" It has been said that at first Carlyle sent his manuscript to the printer without making any corrections on the first words that came, but that, happening to see the interlineated "copy" of a distinguished contemporary, he changed his plan and also took to making emendations, almost on the scale of a Balzac. We have the authority of Miss Martineau, however, for a statement that does not harmonise with this story. She tells how almost every other word was altered in Carlyle's proofs. One day he went to the office to urge on the printer. "Why, sir," said the latter, "you really are so very hard upon us with your corrections. They take so much time, you see!" Carlyle replied that he had been accustomed to this sort of thing-he had got works printed in Scotland, and ———.” "Yes, indeed, sir," interrupted the printer, "we are aware of that. We have a man here from Edinburgh, and when he took up a bit of your copy he dropped it as if it had burnt his fingers, and cried out, 'Lord have mercy! have you got that man to print for? Lord knows when

we shall get done-with all his corrections!'" On the question of Copyright he thought much and wrote not a little. As early as 1839, indeed, he presented a petition to Parliament on the subject of the Copyright Bill then engaging the attention of the Legislature; it was in this document he described himself, with characteristic preference for simple, homely phrase, as a "Writer of Books." It is amusing to read the answers which he gave to Joseph Hume, in the Commission upon the British Museum, on the subject of the selection of books. "But what you might think a bad book I might think a good one," was the substance of Mr Hume's questions to the sage, who was for stark naked despotism in this matter. Carlyle would allow a book of which he personally disapproved "a run for its life," but he would shoot it down if he could. Mr Hume was quite unable to produce any impression upon him, and the subject dropped.

Carlyle felt a little annoyed at a West-End bootmaker, who lithographed a note of commendation which he had received from the author of Sartor, and used it as an advertisement; the sage was troubled with corns, and having been induced to give this tradesman a trial, found such relief in using his boots that he felt constrained to send him a compliment along with the next order, never dreaming of the purpose to which it would be turned. He was vexed at first, but afterwards laughed, disdainfully, when the subject came up, though he would usually add some praise of the man's skill from an experience of him six times repeated. He was better satisfied with the paragraph which appeared in the papers telling about a tanner whose manufacture was remarkable for its excel