manifested an interest. Sir George's vignette of him was that he was one
of the most amiable men it were possible to conceive. He was closely
occupied with his own work, but that did not prevent him from being an
informed observer of other things.

'Of the advantages of association with master intellects,' Sir George
would say, 'I sought to make the best use. The three men who exercised
most influence on me were Archbishop Whately, Sir James Stephen, and
Thomas Carlyle, names which I revere. They denote characters who adorned
the nation, and as for Carlyle, I can only describe him as a profoundly
great figure. When I think of him, I immediately fly to Babbage, the
inventor of the famous calculating machine. And I'm afraid I smile.'

The link lay in certain experiences which befell Carlyle and Babbage in
the streets of London. The coincidence was notable, and, farther, Sir
George thought it strange that each great man should have made him
confidant. But he had delighted in receiving the confidences, proofs of
their friendship, and with a mixture of gravity and amusement he had
consoled the martyrs.

'Being,' he entered upon the tale, 'once introduced to Carlyle's company,
I think by Sir Richard Owen, it was my delight, during any spell in
London, to visit him at Chelsea. Perhaps, as the matter has been long
under review, I may remark that, to an outsider, no want of harmony was
apparent, in the relations between Carlyle and his wife. You were not
conscious of any element of that description; assuredly I was not, and I
prefer to cling to that impression. Carlyle would sit at the right side
of the fire, through an evening, I on his left, and we would talk on all
manner of topics. I should most accurately describe our talk by saying
that we philosophised. Or, we might read a little; he was a loving