parlour door to bid me good-bye. She kissed me twice, she me once, I her
a second time.' They parted for ever.

Edinburgh was reached in due course, and what happened there had best be
told by an eye-witness, Professor Masson. 'On the night following
Carlyle's arrival in town,' he says, 'after he had settled himself in Mr
Erskine of Linlathen's house, where he was to stay during his visit, he
and his brother John came to my house in Rosebery Crescent, that they
might have a quiet smoke and talk over matters. They sat with me an hour
or more, Carlyle as placid and hearty as could be, talking most
pleasantly, a little dubious, indeed, as to how he might get through his
Address, but for the rest unperturbed. As to the Address itself, when
the old man stood up in the Music Hall before the assembled crowd, and
threw off his Rectorial robes, and proceeded to speak, slowly,
connectedly, and nobly raising his left hand at the end of each section
or paragraph to stroke the back of his head as he cogitated what he was
to say next, the crowd listening as they had never listened to a speaker
before, and reverent even in those parts of the hall where he was least
audible,--who that was present will ever forget that sight? That day,
and on the subsequent days of his stay, there were, of course, dinners
and other gatherings in Carlyle's honour. One such dinner, followed by a
larger evening gathering, was in my house. Then, too, he was in the best
of possible spirits, courteous in manner and in speech to all, and
throwing himself heartily into whatever turned up. At the dinner-table,
I remember, Lord Neaves favoured us with one or two of his humorous
songs or recitatives, including his clever quiz called "Stuart Mill on
Mind and Matter," written to the tune of "Roy's wife of Aldivalloch." No
one enjoyed the thing more than Carlyle; and he surprised me by doing
what I had never heard him do before,--actually joining with his own
voice in the chorus. "Stuart Mill on Mind and Matter, Stuart Mill on
Mind and Matter," he chaunted laughingly along with Lord Neaves every
time the chorus came round, beating time in the air emphatically with
his fist. It was hardly otherwise, or only otherwise inasmuch as the
affair was more ceremonious and stately, at the dinner given to him in
the Douglas Hotel by the Senatus Academicus, and in which his old friend
Sir David Brewster presided. There, too, while dignified and serene,
Carlyle was thoroughly symp