_rationality_ and even seriousness of temper.
Distracted _address_ of a letter from somebody to Queen Victoria; "The
most noble George Victoria, Queen of England, Knight and Baronet," or
something like that. A man had once written to Peel himself, while
secretary, "that he was weary of life, that if any gentleman wanted for
his park-woods a hermit, he, etc.", all of which was very pretty and
human as Peel gave it us.'[27] Carlyle was driven home by the Bishop of
Oxford, 'Soapy Sam' Wilberforce, whom he had probably met before at the
Ashburton's. The Bishop once told Froude that he considered Carlyle a
most eminently religious man. 'Ah, Sam,' said Carlyle to Froude one day,
'he is a very clever fellow; I do not hate him near as much as I fear I
ought to do.' Carlyle and Peel met once more, at Bath House, and there,
too, he was first introduced to the Duke of Wellington. Writing at the
time, Carlyle said: 'I had never seen till now how beautiful, and what
an expression of graceful simplicity, veracity, and nobleness there is
about the old hero when you see him close at hand.... Except for Dr
Chalmers, I have not for many years seen so beautiful an old man.'

Carlyle intended, some time or other, writing a 'Life of Sterling,' but
meanwhile he accepted an invitation to visit South Wales. Thence he
made his way to Scotsbrig. On the 27th September 1850, he 'parted
sorrowfully with his mother.' When he reached London, the autumn
quarterlies were reviewing the _Pamphlets_, and the 'shrieking tone was
considerably modified.' 'A review of them,' says Froude, 'by Masson in
the _North British_ distinctly pleased Carlyle. A review in the _Dublin_
he found "excellently serious," and conjectured that it came from some
Anglican pervert or convert. It was written, I believe, by Dr Ward.'

After a few more wanderings, Carlyle set about the _Life of Sterling_,
and on April 5, 1851, he informs his mother: 'I told the Doctor about
"John Sterling's Life," a small, insignificant book or pamphlet I have
been writing. The booksellers got it away from me the other morning, to
see how much there is of it, in the first place. I know not altogether
myself whether it is worth printing or not, but rather think it will be
the end of it whether or not. It has cost little trouble, and need not
do much ill, if it do no great amount of good.' Another visit had to be
paid to Scotsbrig, where he read the "Life of Chalmers." 'An excellent
Christian man,' he