ready wit and philosophy, that mixture of pleasantry and profundity,
that extensive knowledge of books and character, with their ready
application in argument or illustration, and that perfect ease and
good nature which distinguish both of these men. The opponents were so
well matched that it was quite clear the contest would never come to
an end. But the night was far advanced, and the party broke up. They
all sallied forth, and leaving the close room, the candles and the
arguments behind them, suddenly found themselves in presence of a most
brilliant starlight night. They all looked up. 'Now,' thought Hunt,
'Carlyle's done for! he can have no answer to that!' 'There,' shouted
Hunt, 'look up there, look at that glorious harmony, that sings with
infinite voices an eternal song of Hope in the soul of man.' Carlyle
looked up. They all remained silent to hear what he would say. They
began to think he was silenced at last--he was a mortal man. But out
of that silence came a few low-toned words, in a broad Scotch accent.
And who on earth could have anticipated what the voice said? 'Eh! it's
a sad sight!' Hunt sat down on a stone step. They all laughed--then
looked very thoughtful. Had the finite measured itself with infinity,
instead of surrendering itself up to the influence? Again they
laughed--then bade each other good night, and betook themselves
homeward with slow and serious pace."[A]

[Footnote A: "A New Spirit of the Age," by R.H. Home. London, 1844.
Vol. . p. 278.]

In 1840 Leigh Hunt left Chelsea, and went to live at Kensington, but
Carlyle never altogether lost sight of him, and on several occasions
was able to do him very serviceable acts of kindness; as, for
instance, in writing certain Memoranda concerning him with the view of
procuring from Government a small provision for Leigh Hunt's declining