The Story of Thomas Carlyle (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1888. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XLVL His garment only is dead. The essence of it lives through all Time and Eternity. His place now with the stars of Heaven.--Carlyle, Past and Present. Some people never grow old. Carlyle's physical frame diminished in size, in strength and activity, but his mind retained all its supreme original powers, his heart the fire of youth, his imagination its unsurpassed creative faculty. As in days past he rarely attended theatres without suffering in witnessing the tragic scenes represented on the stage, as if they were stern realities; so now all the past history of his life rose up before him as if ever present. His Jeannie never grew old; his mother never lacked the vigour of his own early days; his brothers and sisters remained lads and lasses; his departed friends all rose up before his mind in living forms, and he dwelt among them, recalled them to his side as he sat lonely and apparently desolate in that quiet house at Chelsea. Ah to him how it was peopled with his lost loves. Strangers, try as they might to find access to the old man, could not enter his heart. All he had loved, not many, but so well, completely filled up every gap. He allowed many to come, to look at the "great man" as he sat awaiting his great change, but the only friend he wanted was Death. Of him he stood in no mortal dread. Mrs. Oliphant called once more. He was still sitting in the centre of the room, in a suit of gray cloth--no shoddy--his well-known marked identity, "his figure gaunt and feeble, helpless and stranded amidst the wrecks of life." He was full of old-fashioned politeness, was ever courteous to ladies, and tottered to his feet to greet a stranger, as long as he had the power. For the first time for forty years a baby was born in that house--another Thomas...