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who differed with him were little better than a pack of fools. Mr. Froude in his biography of him is compelled to say, “Of all men I have ever seen, Carlyle was the least patient of the common woes of humanity.” And to show the obverse of his character in respect to minor ills Mrs. Carlyle once wrote “A positive Christian in bearing others' pain, he is himself a roaring Thor when himself is pricked by a pin.” These, and a thousand other things that may be laid to his personal account must be steadily and religiously ignored by those who would really know Carlyle in his works. These may be read with endless delight. Doubtless we must get accustomed to the style— in every enterprise we must understand the tools ... that are to be worked with. But when we understand the language in which he speaks—it is sometimes called Carlylese—we gain immense enjoyment. The “French Revolution ” is the finest and most dramatic story that has been told in modern times. It is not a narrative, but a picture, a panorama. The artist stands at one side and unrolls before us that tremendous story of passion and vengeance, when gods and demons contended, and when faith found its avenger in the “ olive

complexioned" Corsican. From the fearful

chapter where “Louis the well-beloved,” lies dying, “unhousell'd, disappointed, unaneled,” down to the “whiff of grape-shot,” every page is livid, every character described is alive and bleeding. In all English literature there is no such book. The “Cromwell,” too, is masterly. That strange hero, half hypocrite, half saint, is so described by documents and records, bound together by the merest ligament of comment in a way that is unforgettable in English speech. And it is, too, most artistically done. Think what we may, Carlyle’s “Cromwell” is the last and most authentic story of the man. “Frederick the Great" is his masterpiece, the most decidedly complete combination of history and biography yet delivered to man in the English tongue. In that great book you may see the famous Prussian King as the one genuine figure in the European history of the eighteenth century. It is a marvelous portraiture, and even at a single reading one may carry in his mind its pictures forever. If you would understand eighteenth century politics and war, read Carlyle's Frederick the Great. We Americans have a very fair right to talk of Carlyle and praise him. It was we who discovered him. He was without honor in Britain when in the early “thirties” Emerson brought “Sartor Resartus” to the knowledge of his countrymen. Carlyle had carried the manuscript to almost every London publisher meeting with nothing but defeat. No one would have it. Finally he got the editor of Fraser's Magazine to publish it in numbers and even then met with ridicule only. “Stop that stuff or stop my paper,” wrote one of the subscribers. Carlyle himself said at that time that in the whole world there were but two persons who found anything in it worth reading. One was Emerson and the other a priest at Cork.

It was published in Boston about 1834, and with Emerson's introduction was received with enthusiasm. It became the literary fashion and it was widely read. Before Carlyle ever received an English penny for his work, Emerson sent him from this country, something like four hundred dollars.

“Sartor Resartus” is a prose poem on life, manners, religion, politics and literature. It is the one work of Carlyle's that has exerted more influence on modern thought than any other. It is from this that he gained his disciples and interpreters.

JOHN STUART MILL.
(1806-1873).

The name of John Stuart Mill is not often heard in these days, though he has been dead barely thirty years. Fifty years ago he was one of the foremost men in England and his works were widely read. To-day there are few, if any, readers who open his pages. His “Logic,” his “Dissertations on Philosophy,” and his essays on “Liberty,” “The Subjection of Women,” and “Representative Government " are no longer read. The only volume of his that the world has any interest in is his “Autobiography,” published shortly after his death. It does not quite rank with the great autobiographies—with those of Cellini, Rousseau, Franklin, and Gibbon, for it does not contain the self-revelations that make those remarkable books so deeply interesting to humanity, but Mill describes in very clear and simple style the growth of his mind and the man

ner of his education. As the story of how a father educated his son, and the results of that education, it is one of the most interesting books in the world. His father was James Mill, a Scotchman, educated at the University of Edinburgh and intended for the Church. His skepticism kept him out of the pulpit and he became a journalist. Later he entered the service of the East India Company and wrote a history of “British India,” a work that Macaulay mentions with respect. John Stuart the eldest son of James Hill, was born in 1806, and from his infancy his education was planned and entirely conducted by his father. He never went to school. At the age of three he was taught the Greek alphabet, and by the time he was eight he had read more Greek authors than are to be found in the ordinary classical courses in college. The only thing beside Greek that he studied in this period was arithmetic, which he then and ever afterward detested. He was a constant inmate of his father's study, and his companion in walking and all their conversation was on books or reading. Thus he never was a boy and lost much through not being thrown among boys who have a knack at knocking the nonsense out of priggish boys. Of games and plays such

as healthy children and youths delight in he knew

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