he lived among the glories and sublimities of universal nature his thoughts were of sages and heroes, and scenes of Elysian beauty. It is true that he had no rest; but he enjoyed the fiery consciousness of his own activity, which stands in place of it for men like him. It is true that he was long sickly; but did he not even then conceive and body forth 'Max Piccolomini,' and 'Thekla,' and the Maid of Orleans,' and the scenes of 'William Tell'? It is true he died early; but the student will exclaim with Charles the Twelfth in another case, 'Was it not enough of life when he had conquered kingdoms?' These kingdoms which Schiller conquered were not for one nation at the expense of suffering for another; they were soiled by no patriot's blood, no widow's, no orphan's tears. They are kingdoms conquered from the barren realms of Darkness to increase the happiness, and dignity, and power of all men; new forms of Truth, new maxims of Wisdom, new images and scenes of Beauty, won from 'the void and formless Infinite'; a ктñμa έç aiɛí, 'a possession for ever,' to all the generations of the earth."

In 1826 Carlyle married Jane Welch, the orphan and only child of an eminent physician, who brought with her a moderate fortune, which set him free from the necessity of further journeywork in literature. Their childless union lasted forty years, when she passed away. She had gone out for her accustomed drive in a London park. After a while the coachman, not having received any order to return, opened the carriage door and found her speechless and motionless. He drove to St. George's Hospital near by, but when he

arrived she was dead-had been dead probably for some time. They buried her in the old cathedral church at her native Haddington, in the same grave where her father had been laid almost half a century before. For the tombstone Carlyle wrote this epitaph:

CARLYLE'S EPITAPH ON HIS WIFE.

"Here, likewise, now rests Jane Welch Carlyle, spouse of Thomas Carlyle, Chelsea, London. She was born at Haddington, 14th July, 1801; only child of tho above John Welch and of Grace Welch, Caplegell, Dumfriesshire, his wife. In her bright existence she had more sorrows than are common, but also a soft invincibility, a capacity of discernment, and a noble loyalty of heart, which are rare. For forty years she was the true and loving helpmate of her husband, and by act and word unwearily forwarded him as none else could in all of worthy that he did or attempted. She died at London, 21st April, 1866, suddenly snatched away from him, and the light of his life as if gone out."

We are not aware that Mrs. Carlyle ever published anything; but at the time of her death she was engaged upon a novel, from which much was expected by those who knew her capacities. Dickens, writing to John Forster, says: "Her sudden death was a terrible shock to me, and poor Carlyle has been in my mind ever since. How often have I thought of the unfinished novel: no one now to finish it! None of the writing women come near to her at all." To which Forster, in his "Life of

Dickens," adds: "No one could doubt this who had come within the fascinating influence of that sweet and noble nature. With the highest gifts of intellect, and the charm of a most varied knowledge of men and things, there was something beyond. No one who knew Mrs. Carlyle could replace her loss when she passed away." She was the subject of poor Leigh Hunt's pretty poem, "Jenny Kissed Me!" Hunt had one day come to the Carlyles, bearing tidings of some rare good fortune which had just happened to them; whereat "Jenny" sprang from her chair, threw her arms about his neck, and gave him a cordial congratulatory kiss: whence the poem.

66

III.

AT CRAIGENPUTTOCH.

SOON after their marriage, Carlyle and his wife went to Germany, where they remained a considerable time, and became intimate with Goethe, who subsequently addressed several graceful little poems to Mrs. Carlyle. Returning to Scotland, they took up their residence, in 1828, at Craigenputtoch, a small estate belonging to her, fifteen miles from Dumfries, among the granite hills and black morasses which stretch westward

through Galloway almost to the Irish Sea. Writ ing to Goethe soon after, Carlyle thus describes their way of life:

LIFE AT CRAIGENPUTTOCH.

"In this wilderness of heath and rock our estate stands forth a green oasis, a track of plowed, partly inclosed, and planted ground, where corn ripens and trees afford a shade, although surrounded by sea-mews and rough-wooled sheep. Here, with no small effort, have we built and furnished a neat and substantial dwelling; here, in the absence of professional or other office, we live to cultivate literature according to our strength, and in our own peculiar way. We wish a joyful growth to the roses and flowers of our garden; we hope for health and peaceful thoughts to further our aims. This nook of ours is the loneliest in Britain, six miles removed from any one who would be likely to visit me. But I came hither solely with the design to simplify my way of life, and to secure the independence through which I could be enabled to remain true to myself. Nor is the solitude of such great importance, for a stage-coach takes us speedily to Edinburgh. And have I not, too, at this moment piled up upon the table of my little library a whole cart-load of French, German, American, and English journals and periodicals-whatever may be their worth?"

The six years (1828-1833) which Carlyle passed in this quiet retreat were among the most important of his life. Here were written the greater part, and certainly the best, of his critical and biographical essays. Among them are those

on

ature,"

on Richter, Werner, Heine, Goethe, Novalis, Voltaire, Diderot, Burns, and Johnson; the papers "The Nibelungenlied,” “Early German Liter‚” “German Poetry" and "Biography," and the notable essays, "Signs of the Times" and "Characteristics," which contain the germs of his social and ethical philosophy. Here, also, running through a considerable part of the six years, was written "Sartor Resartus," of which we shall have more to say hereafter. From these "Miscellanies" we quote a few passages, taken almost at random, which may be regarded as characteristic of his way of thought and expression, prefixing to them titles of our own:

DEMIGODS AND MEN.

"Moral reflection first: That in these centuries men are not born demigods and perfect characters, but imperfect ones, and mere blamable men; men, namely, environed with such short-coming and confusion of their own, and then with such adscititious scandal and misjudgment (got into the work they did), that they resemble less demigods than a sort of god-devils-very imperfect characters indeed. The demigod arrangement were the one which, at first sight, this reviewer might be inclined to prefer.

"Moral reflection second, however: That probably men were never born demigods in any century, but precisely god-devils as we see; certain of whom do become a kind of demigods! How many are the men, not cen ́sured, misjudged, calumniated only, but tortured, crucified, hung on gibbets-not as god-devils even, but as