THOMAS CAKLYLE. 3G3 



be doctored. The great man of the occasion had 

 declined the honour, pleading humorously that in 

 heaven there might be some confusion between him and 

 his brother John, if they both bore the title of doctor. 

 I went up to Carlyle, and earnestly scanning his face, 

 asked : 'How do you feel ? ' He returned my gaze, 

 curved his lip, shook his head, and answered not a word. 

 'Now,' I said, 'you have to practise what you have 

 been preaching all your life, and prove yourself a hero.' 

 He again shook his head, but said nothing. A proces- 

 sion was formed, and we moved, amid the plaudits of 

 the students, towards the platform. Carlyle took his 

 place in the rector's chair, and the ceremony of con- 

 ferring degrees began. Looking at the sea of faces 

 below me — young, eager, expectant, waiting to be 

 lifted up by the words of the prophet they had chosen 

 — I forgot all about the degrees. Suddenly I found an 

 elbow among my ribs — ' Tyndall, they are calling for 

 you.' I promptly stood at 6 'tention ' and underwent 

 the process of baptism. The degrees conferred, a fine 

 tall young fellow rose and proclaimed with rioging 

 voice from the platform the honour that had been con- 

 fered on ' the foremost of living Scotchmen.' The 

 cheers were loud and long. 



Carlyle stood up, threw off his robe, like an ancient 

 David declining the unproved armour of Saul, and in 

 his carefully-brushed brown morning-coat came forward 

 to the table. With nervous fingers he grasped the 

 leaf, and stooping over it looked earnestly down upon 

 the audience. ' They tell me,' he said, ' that I ought 

 to have written this address, and out of deference to 

 the counsel I tried to do so, once, twice, thrice. But 

 what I wrote was only fit for the fire, and to the fire it 

 was compendiously committed. You must therefore 

 listen to and accept what I say to you as coming straight 



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