Note 16 — Chapter VI

The following graphic description of the residence, personal appearance and conversation of Carlyle is from the pen of Elizur Wright, Junr. "Passing the long lines of new buildings which have stretched from Westminster up the Thames, and engulphed the old village of Chelsea, in omnivorous London, you recognize at last the old Chelsea Hospital, one of the world-famous clusters of low brick palaces, where Britain nurses her fighting men when they can fight no more. A little past this and an old ivy-clad church, with its buried generations lying around it, you come to an antique street running at right angles with the Thames, and a few steps from the river, you find Carlyle's name on the door. A Scotch lass ushers you into the second story front chamber, which is the spacious workshop of the world-maker. Here are lots of books—ponderous tomes in Latin, Greek, and black letter English,—some are on shelves occupying nearly all the walls, and some are piled on tables and a reading rack as having just been read. The furniture speaks of Scotch economy, and the whole face of things of more than common Scotch tidiness. In fact, a superbly wrought bell-rope indicates that the wife is a true hero worshipper. Carlyle is a mere man, ordinary size, lofty and jutting brow, keen—exceedingly keen eye, and modest unassuming manners. His voice is melodious, and with its rich Scotch cadence, and rapid flow, reminds you of Thalberg's music in some strange out of the way key. Just set him agoing, and he runs without stopping, giving you whole masses of history, painting and poetry, and a great mass of the boundless system of Carlyleism. There is nothing which he does not touch; and figures of speech come tumbling in from all corners, top and bottom of the universe, as the merest matter of course. Doubt, hesitation or qualification have no place among his opinions, he having kicked them all out of doors when he began his philosophy."

Many inquiries have been made respecting Carlyle's religious opinions; but it is difficult to say anything very decisive in reply. That he has a deep reverence for the Christian faith,—that he strongly inclines to a sort of transcendental orthodoxy,—that he loves, moreover, true-hearted piety, and is himself a model of integrity and affection cannot be doubted. He often speaks of Jesus as divine,—as the most perfect of all heroes—as the God man—as the Divine man. He possesses a profound sympathy for the higher and more beautiful forms of Christian virtue, and describes the lives and characters of good men with the liveliest relish. We incline therefore to believe, that notwithstanding his transcendental speculations, and philosophical doubts, he has a true (though not thoroughly defined) heart faith in the essential doctrines of the Christian system. Clouds and darkness hang upon the horizon of his spiritual vision, but gloriously irradiated with light from heaven, and here and there opening into vistas of serene and ineffable beauty. Many of his followers, we think, do not understand him, and we fear, will never reach his purity and elevation of mind. They are more likely to be led astray, by the magnificent illusions of his gifted but somewhat erring fancy. Instead of resting in the simple-hearted and heroic faith which he loves so much to describe, they may plunge into the abysses of doubt and despair.