CARLYLE AND HIS WAYS.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 10289, 21 February 1895, Page 6

CARLYLE AND HIS WAYS.

The injunctions left by Mr {Fronde irrbis will respecting the destruction of all Ma papers in bis possession relating to Mr and Mrs Oarlyle revive many memories respecting the '-Sage of Chslsea." During the Rnssian-Turkish War Mr Oarlyle's sympathies were, as were well known, sternly Russian, and any mention of the Unspeakable Turk roused his wrath to a terrible extent. It was my good fortune to see a great deal of him in those days, and one night we met at the dinner-table of a very great common friend, when he was specially wrathful at some incident which had occurred in connection with the conflict then going on. To contradict him or argua with him was useless, as it wonld only fan the flames: so we all sat in silence listening to the torrent of vehement, angry abnse of the unfortunate Tarks, who were then performing prodigies of valour against overwhelming odds. Ha harangued us for some time, and received no response. The growlfegs of tha thundor became lower and lower, and at least ceased with a loud laugh and chuckle at the conspiracy of silence, of which no one enjoyed the fun more than himself. He exclaimed. "Well, well! Isse I am going to have the jaw all to myself," and quickly changed the subject, choosing another, on which we could all join in more or less modified agreement.

If not contradicted (and at his age very few cared to irritate the old man), he coon relinquished his soliloquy, and fell into the conversation around him, puffing great clouds of smoke from his pipe, and growling out remarks of approval or of dissent.

I always remember the last time I saw him, but a very short time before his death.

He was lying on the sofa, in the room bo well known to us all; his god-daughter, a little girl of some seven years, who had brought him a pair of warm gloves to- wear, standing beside him.

He was very weary, and very tired of life; and the contrast was striking between the child on the threshold of life, with toys, its pleasures, and its feebleness still unfolded, standing beside the aged philosopher, whose dim eye and shrunk form told of a life of struggle, weariness, aad unsatisfied longings —who had drunk the cup of life to its dregs; who had won fame, renown ; who had left a name that would live in all time; who yet longed for death with a passionate longing. It was one of the most dramatic pictures one had ever seen, and one that could never pass from the memory of those who saw it.— Lady Jeune, in the Bealra.