the human race!" (Great laughter from T.C.) "And so far as I can make
out he was all wrong.

"The Frederick is being translated into German. It is being done by a
man whose name I have forgotten, but it was begun by one of the most
faithful friends I ever had, Neuberg. I could not work in the rooms in
the offices where lay the State papers I wanted to use, it brought on
such a headache, but Neuberg went there, and for six months worked all
day copying. He was taken ill, and a surgical operation was badly
performed, and then in that wild, black weather at the beginning of last
year, just after I came back from Mentone, the news came to me one night
he was dead."

On leaving Carlyle shook hands with us both and said he was glad to have
seen us. "It was pleasant to have friends coming out of the dark in
this way."

Perhaps a reflection or two which occurred to me after this interview
may not be out of place. Carlyle was perfectly frank, even to us of
whom he knew but little. He did not stand off or refuse to talk on any
but commonplace subjects. What was offered to us was his best. And yet
there is to be found in him a singular reserve, and those shallow
persons who taunt him with inconsistency because he makes so much of
silence, and yet talks so much, understand little or nothing of him. In
half a dozen pages one man may be guilty of shameless garrulity, and
another may be nobly reticent throughout a dozen volumes. Carlyle feels
the contradictions of the universe as keenly as any man can feel them.
He knows how easy it is to appear profound by putting anew the riddles
which nobody can answer; he knows how strong is the temptation towards
the insoluble. But upon these subjects he also knows how to hold his