othing to say! This, perhaps, is the real secret of it after all;
a hard result, yet not intolerable, were it once clear and certain.
Literature, it seems, is to be my trade, but the present aspects of it
among us seem to me peculiarly perplexed and uninviting.'[6]Here, as in
undertone, we discover what Professor Masson calls the constitutional
sadness of Carlyle--a sadness which, along with indifferent health, led
him to be impatient at trifles, morbid, proud, and at times needlessly
aggressive in speech and demeanour. These traits, however, in the early
years of married life were not specially visible; and on the whole the
Comely Bank period may be described as one of calm happiness. Carlyle's
forecast was correct. Literature was to be his trade.

In the following spring came a letter to Carlyle from Procter (Barry
Cornwall), whom he had met in London, offering to introduce him formally
to Jeffrey, whom he certified to be a 'very fine fellow.' One evening
Carlyle sallied forth from Comely Bank for Jeffrey's house in George
Street, armed with Procter's letter. He was shown into the study. 'Fire,
pair of candles,' he relates, 'were cheerfully burning, in the light of
which sate my famous little gentleman; laid aside his work, cheerfully
invited me to sit, and began talking in a perfectly human manner.' The
interview lasted for about twenty minutes, during which time Jeffrey had
made kind enquiries what his visitor was doing and what he had
published; adding, 'We must give you a lift,' an offer, Carlyle says,
which in 'some complimentary way' he managed to Jeffrey's satisfaction
to decline. Jeffrey returned Carlyle's call, when he was captivated by
Mrs Carlyle. The intimacy rapidly increased, and a short paper by
Carlyle on Jean Paul appeared in the very next issue of the _Edinburgh
Review_. 'It made,' says the author, 'what they call a sensation among
the Edinburgh buckrams; which was greatly heightened next Number by the
more elaborate and grave article on "German Literature" generally, which
set many tongues wagging, and some few brains considering, _what_ this
strange monster could be that was come to disturb their quiescence and
the established order of Nature! Some Newspapers or Newspaper took to
denouncing "the Mystic School," which my bright little Woman declared to
consist of me alone, or of her and me, and for a long while after
merrily used to designate us by that title.'

Mrs Carlyle proved an admirable hoste