not one of them, perhaps, perfectly just,
but all drawn with the finest, boldest strokes, and, from his point of
view, masterly. All were depreciating, except that of Beranger. Of him
he spoke with perfect justice, because with hearty sympathy.

I had, afterward, some talk with Mrs. C., whom hitherto I had only
_seen_, for who can speak while her husband is there? I like her very
much;--she is full of grace, sweetness, and talent. Her eyes are sad
and charming. * * *

After this, they went to stay at Lord Ashburton's, and I only saw
them once more, when they came to pass an evening with us. Unluckily,
Mazzini was with us, whose society, when he was there alone, I enjoyed
more than any. He is a beauteous and pure music; also, he is a dear
friend of Mrs. C.; but his being there gave the conversation a turn to
"progress" and ideal subjects, and C. was fluent in invectives on
all our "rose-water imbecilities." We all felt distant from him, and
Mazzini, after some vain efforts to remonstrate, became very sad. Mrs.
C. said to me, "These are but opinions to Carlyle; but to Mazzini, who
has given his all, and helped bring his friends to the scaffold, in
pursuit of such subjects, it is a matter of life and death."

All Carlyle's talk, that evening, was a defence of mere
force,--success the test of right;--if people would not behave well,
put collars round their necks;--find a hero, and let them be his
slaves, &c. It was very Titanic, and anti-celestial. I wish the last
evening had been more melodious. However, I bid Carlyle farewell with
feelings of the warmest friendship and admiration. We cannot feel
otherwise to a great and noble nature, whether it harmonize with our
own or not. I never appreciated the work he has done for his age
till I saw England. I could not. You must stand in the shadow of that
mountain of shams, to know how hard it is to cast light across it.

Honor to Carlyle! _Hoch!_ Although in the wine with which we drink
this health, I, for one, must mingle the despised "rose-water."

And now, having to your eye shown the defects of my own mind, in the
sketch of another, I will pass on more lowly,--more willing to be
imperfect,--since Fate permits such noble creatures, after all, to
be only this or that. It is much if one is not only a crow or
magpie;--Carlyle is only a lion. Some time we may, all in full, be
intelligent and humanly fair.

CARLYLE, AGAIN.

_Paris, Dec, 1846._--Accustomed to the infi