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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pages from a Journal with Other Papersby Mark RutherfordCopyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributingthis or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this ProjectGutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit theheader without written permission.Please read the "legal small print," and other information about theeBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included isimportant information about your specific rights and restrictions inhow the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make adonation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts****eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971*******These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****Title: Pages from a Journal with Other PapersAuthor: Mark RutherfordRelease Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7053][This file was first posted on March 2, 2003]Edition: 10Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ASCII*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PAGES FROM A JOURNAL ***Transcribed from the 1901 T. Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, emailccx074@coventry.ac.ukPAGES FROM A JOURNAL, WITH OTHER PAPERS.Contents:A Visit to Carlyle in 1868Early Morning in JanuaryMarch
 
JuneAugustThe End of OctoberNovemberThe Break-up of a Great DroughtSpinozaSupplementary Note on the DevilInjusticeTime Settles ControversiesTalking about our TroublesFaithPatienceAn ApologyBelief, Unbelief, and SuperstitionJudas IscariotSir Walter Scott's Use of the SupernaturalSeptember, 1798Some Notes on MiltonThe Morality of Byron's Poetry. "The Corsair"Byron, Goethe, and Mr. Matthew ArnoldA SacrificeThe Aged ThreeConscienceThe Governess's StoryJames ForbesAtonementMy Aunt EleanorCorrespondence between George, Lucy, M.A., and Hermione Russell, B.A.Mrs. FairfaxA VISIT TO CARLYLE IN 1868On Saturday, the 22nd of March, 1868, my father and I called on Carlyleat 5, Cheyne Row, Chelsea, with a message from one of his intimatefriends.We were asked upstairs at once, and found Carlyle at breakfast. Theroom was large, well-lighted, a bright fire was burning, and the windowwas open in order to secure complete ventilation. Opposite thefireplace was a picture of Frederick the Great and his sister. Therewere also other pictures which I had not time to examine. One of themCarlyle pointed out. It was a portrait of the Elector of Saxony whoassisted Luther. The letters V.D.M.I.AE. ("Verbum Dei Manet inAEternum") were round it. Everything in the room was in exact order,there was no dust or confusion, and the books on the shelves werearranged in perfect EVENNESS. I noticed that when Carlyle replaced abook he took pains to get it level with the others. The furniture wassolid, neat, and I should think expensive. I showed him the letter hehad written to me eighteen years ago. It has been published by Mr.Froude, but it will bear reprinting. The circumstances under which itwas written, not stated by Mr. Froude, were these. In 1850, when theLatter-day Pamphlets appeared--how well I remember the eager journey tothe bookseller for each successive number!--almost all the reviewsunited in a howl of execration, criticism so called. I, being young,
 
and owing so much to Carlyle, wrote to him, the first and almost theonly time I ever did anything of the kind, assuring him that there wasat least one person who believed in him. This was his answer:-"CHELSEA, 9th March, 1850."MY GOOD YOUNG FRIEND,--I am much obliged by the regard you entertainfor me; and do not blame your enthusiasm, which well enough beseems youryoung years. If my books teach you anything, don't mind in the leastwhether other people believe it or not; but do you for your own behooflay it to heart as a real acquisition you have made, more properly, as areal message left with you, which YOU must set about fulfilling,whatsoever others do! This is really all the counsel I can give youabout what you read in my books or those of others: PRACTISE what youlearn there; instantly and in all ways begin turning the belief into afact, and continue at that--till you get more and ever more beliefs,with which also do the like. It is idle work otherwise to write booksor to read them."And be not surprised that 'people have no sympathy with you'; that isan accompaniment that will attend you all your days if you mean to leadan earnest life. The 'people' could not save you with their 'sympathy'if they had never so much of it to give; a man can and must savehimself, with or without their sympathy, as it may chance."And may all good be with you, my kind young friend, and a heart stoutenough for this adventure you are upon; that is the best 'good' of all."I remain, yours very sincerely,"T. CARLYLE."Carlyle had forgotten this letter, but said, "It is undoubtedly mine.It is what I have always believed . . . it has been so ever since I wasat college. I do not mean to say I was not loved there as warmly bynoble friends as ever man could be, but the world tumbled on me, and hasever since then been tumbling on me rubbish, huge wagon-loads ofrubbish, thinking to smother me, and was surprised it did not smotherme--turned round with amazement and said, 'What, you alive yet?' . . .While I was writing my Frederick my best friends, out of delicacy, didnot call. Those who came were those I did not want to come, and I sawvery few of them. I shook off everything to right and left. At lastthe work would have killed me, and I was obliged to take to riding,chiefly in the dark, about fourteen miles most days, plunging andfloundering on. I ought to have been younger to have undertaken such atask. If they were to offer me all Prussia, all the solar system, Iwould not write Frederick again. No bribe from God or man would temptme to do it."He was re-reading his Frederick, to correct it for the stereotypededition. "On the whole I think it is very well done. No man perhaps inEngland could have done it better. If you write a book though now, youmust just pitch it out of window and say, 'Ho! all you jackasses, comeand trample on it and trample it into mud, or go on till you aretired.'" He laughed heartily at this explosion. His laughter struckme--humour controlling his wrath and in a sense ABOVE it, as if the
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