240 A SUNDAY IN CHEYNE ROW. 



himself nor with others. He would not agree to 

 keep the peace ; he would be the voice of absolute 

 conscience, of absolute justice, come what come 

 might. " Woe to them that are at ease in Zion," he 

 once said to John Sterling. The stern, uncompromis- 

 ing front which he first turned to the world he never 

 relaxed for a moment. He had his way with man- 

 kind at all times ; or rather conscience had its way 

 with him at all times in his relations with mankind. 

 He made no selfish demands, but ideal demands. 

 Jeffries, seeing his attitude and his earnestness in it, 

 despaired of him ; he looked upon him as a man but- 

 ting his head against a stone wall ; he never dreamed 

 that the wall would give way before the head did. It 

 was not mere obstinacy ; it was not the pride of opin- 

 ion : it was the thunders of conscience, the awful 

 voice of Sinai, within him ; he dared not do other- 

 wise. 



A selfish or self-seeking man Carlyle in no sense 

 was, though it has so often been charged upon him. 

 He was the victim of his own genius ; and he made 

 others its victims, not of his selfishness. This genius 

 BO doubt came nearer the demon of Socrates than that 

 of any modern man. He is under its lash and tyr- 

 anny from first to last. But the watchword of his 

 life was " Entsagen" renunciation, self-denial, which 

 he learned from Goethe. His demon did not possess 

 him lightly, but dominated and drove him. 



One would as soon accuse St. Simeon Stylites, 

 thirty years at the top of his penitential pillar, of 



