nd's public recognition of him, was now lying close ahead. This
his wife was to live to witness as her final happiness in this world.'
Here is an eloquent passage from the same pen: 'I had been at
Edinburgh,' writes Froude, 'and had heard Gladstone make his great
oration on Homer there, on retiring from office as Rector. It was a
grand display. I never recognised before what oratory could do; the
audience being kept for three hours in a state of electric tension,
bursting every moment into applause. Nothing was said which seemed of
moment when read deliberately afterwards; but the voice was like
enchantment, and the street, when we left the building, was ringing with
a prolongation of cheers. Perhaps in all Britain there was not a man
whose views on all subjects, in heaven and earth, less resembled
Gladstone's than those of the man whom this same applauding multitude
elected to take his place. The students too, perhaps, were ignorant how
wide the contradiction was; but if they had been aware of it they need
not have acted differently. Carlyle had been one of themselves. He had
risen from among them--not by birth or favour, not on the ladder of any
established profession, but only by the internal force that was in
him--to the highest place as a modern man of letters. In _Frederick_ he
had given the finish to his reputation; he stood now at the summit of
his fame; and the Edinburgh students desired to mark their admiration in
some signal way. He had been mentioned before, but he had declined to be
nominated, for a party only were then in his favour. On this occasion,
the students were unanimous, or nearly so. His own consent was all that
was wanting.'[31] This consent was obtained, and Carlyle was chosen
Rector of Edinburgh University. But the Address troubled him. He
resolved, however, as his father used to say, to 'gar himself go through
with the thing,' or at least to try. Froude says he was very miserable,
but that Mrs Carlyle 'kept up his spirits, made fun of his fears,
bantered him, encouraged him, herself at heart as much alarmed as he
was, but conscious, too, of the ridiculous side of it.' She thought of
accompanying him, but her health would not permit of the effort. Both
Huxley and Tyndall were going down, and Tyndall promised Mrs Carlyle to
take care of her husband.

On Monday morning, the 29th of March, 1866, Carlyle and his wife parted.
'The last I saw of her,' he said, 'was as she stood with her back to the