rlyle dealt with
them in a tone of disparagement. Carlyle admired Goethe, but he
certainly made no attempt to cultivate Goethe's catholicity. Let us not
fall into Carlyle's mistake, and condemn him for qualities which were
incompatible with his temperament. After all has been said, English
literature stands largely indebted to Carlyle the critic.

CHAPTER IV

LIFE IN LONDON

Mrs Carlyle entered heartily into her husband's proposal to remove to
London. 'Burn our ships!' she gaily said to him one day (_i.e._,
dismantle our house); 'carry all our furniture with us'; which they
accordingly did. 'At sight of London,' Carlyle wrote, 'I remember
humming to myself a ballad-stanza of "Johnnie o' Braidislea," which my
dear old mother used to sing,

"For there's seven foresters in yon forest;
And them I want to see, see,
And them I want to _see_ (and shoot down)!"

Carlyle lodged at Ampton Street again; but presently did 'immense
stretches of walking in search of houses.' He found his way to Chelsea
and there secured a small old-fashioned house at 5 (now numbered 24)
Cheyne Row, at a rent of L35 a year. Mrs Carlyle followed in a short
time and approved of his choice. They took possession on the 10th June
1834, and Carlyle recounts the 'cheerful gipsy life' they had there
'among the litter and carpenters for three incipient days.' Leigh Hunt
was in the next street 'sending kind, _un_practical messages,' dropping
in to see them in the evenings.

When in London on a former occasion, Carlyle became acquainted with John
Stuart Mill, and the intimacy was kept alive by correspondence to and
from Craigenputtock. It was through Mill's letters that Carlyle's
thoughts were turned towards the French Revolution. When he returned to
London, Mill was very useful to him, lending him a fine collection of
books on that subject. Mill's evenings in Cheyne Row were 'sensibly
agreeable for most part,' remarks Carlyle. 'Talk rather wintry
("sawdustish," as old Sterling once called it), but always well-informed
and sincere.' Carlyle was making rapid progress with the first volume of
his _French Revolution_. Stern necessity gave a spurt to his pen, for in
February 1835 he notes that 'some twenty-three months' had passed since
he earned a single penny by the 'craft of literature.' The volume was
completed and he lent the only copy to Mill. The MS. was unfortunately
burnt by a servant-maid. 'How well do I still remember,' write