56 FKESH FIELDS 



approaclied, a girl sat by the roadside, near the 

 gate, combing her black locks and arranging her 

 toilet; waiting, as it proved, for her mother and 

 brother, who lingered in the village. A couple of 

 boys were cutting nettles against the hedge; for the 

 pigs, they said, after the sting had been taken out 

 of them by boiling. Across the street from the 

 cemetery the cows of the villagers were grazing. 



I must have thought it would be as easy to dis- 

 tinguish Carlyle's grave from the others as it was 

 to distinguish the man while living, or his fame 

 when dead; for it never occurred to me to ask in 

 what part of the inclosure it was placed. Hence, 

 when I found myself inside the gate, which opens 

 from the Annan road through a high stone wall, I 

 followed the most worn path toward a new and 

 imposing-looking monument on the far side of the 

 cemetery; and the edge of my fine emotion was a 

 good deal dulled against the marble when I found 

 it bore a strange name. I tried others, and still 

 others, but was disappointed. I found a long row 

 of Carlyles, but he whom I sought was not among 

 them. My pilgrim enthusiasm felt itself needlessly 

 hindered and chilled. How many rebuffs could 

 one stand? Carlyle dead, then, was the same as 

 Carlyle living; sure to take you down a peg or two 

 when you came to lay your homage at his feet. 



Presently I saw "Thomas Carlyle" on a big 

 marble slab that stood in a family inclosure. But 

 this turned out to be the name of a nephew of the 

 great Thomas. However, I had struck the right 



