atrabilious temperament of Carlyle, his
bad temper, his intense egotism, his irritability, his overweening
pride, his scorn, his profound loneliness and sorrow, and the deep gloom
into which he finally settled, made clear at the same time his honest
and tender nature, his noble independence, his heroic struggles with
poverty of which he never complained, his generous charities, his
conscientiousness and allegiance to duty, his constant labors amid
disease and excessive nervousness, and his profound and unvarying love
for his wife, although he was deficient in those small attentions and
demonstrations of affection which are so much prized by women. If it be
asked whether he was happy in his domestic relations, I would say that
he was as much so as such a man could be. But it was a physical and
moral impossibility that with his ailments and temper he _could_ be
happy. He was not sent into this world to be happy, but to do a work
which only such a man as he could do.

So displeasing, however, were the personal peculiarities of Carlyle
that the man can never be popular. This hyperborean literary giant,
speaking a Babylonian dialect, smiting remorselessly all pretenders and
quacks, and even honest fools, was himself personally a bundle of
contradictions, fierce and sad by turns. He was a compound of Diogenes,
Jeremiah, and Dr. Johnson: like the Grecian cynic in his contempt and
scorn, like the Jewish prophet in his melancholy lamentations, like the
English moralist in his grim humor and overbearing dogmatism.

It is unfortunate that we know so much of the man. Better would it be
for his fame if we knew nothing at all of his habits and peculiarities.
In our blended admiration and contempt, our minds are diverted from the
lasting literary legacy he has left, which, after all, is the chief
thing that concerns us. The mortal man is dead, but his works live. The
biography of a great man is interesting, but his thoughts go coursing
round the world, penetrating even the distant ages, modifying systems
and institutions. What a mighty power is law! Yet how little do we know
or care, comparatively, for lawgivers!

Thomas Carlyle was born in the year 1795, of humble parentage, in an
obscure Scotch village. His father was a stone-mason, much respected for
doing good work, and for his virtue and intelligence,--a rough, rugged
man who appreciated the value of education. Although kind-hearted and
religious, it would seem that he was as h