like the Apostles, we did not conceal our beliefs. He would have liked to join the Church of England; he said so in "Medievalism"; but principle prevailed over inclination. Even after his excommunication, he could not conscientiously join any other Church. His position will perhaps be explained by the following quotation from another letter:

I believe that the existing Christian sects are, collectively, pregnant with the Catholic Church of the future, that they are all wrong in some way and right in some way; that each has a bit of Catholic truth, and that, perhaps, the Roman Church has not only a larger bit than any of them, but that she holds the principle and secret of their eventual synthesis, that she stands for the ideal of unity and Catholicism.

In the same letter, however, he remarked that some of our modernist friends do not seem to realize "the Roman theological system or understand how impossible it is to modify it or deal with it otherwise than by dynamite. All its parts hang together like those of a clock-and clockwork it is." What he felt to be, with intellectualism, a root-evil was the "juridical" conception of that pastoral authority which ought to be purely spiritual.

Father Tyrrell even came to regret the attempt of modernists to reconcile modern culture with the existing Roman system and to believe that they would have been wiser had they adopted the policy of simply stating facts and leaving Rome to make the best of them.

The great mistake we have made (he wrote to me in March of last year) is in trying to help Rome out of her difficulties instead of simply asking questions, proving facts, and then appealing to her for guidance.

Instead

of facing the difficulties which we try to solve, she falls foul of our solutions as creating difficulties of a purely the

Le Roy's "Qu'est

I

George Tyrrell was a true friend and a charming companion. His personal appearance was against him; at the first meeting it was almost a shock, but at the second it was forgotten. cannot describe him better than in the words of my friend, M. Paul Hyacinthe-Loyson: "Il était laid à faire peur au diable et délicieux à charmer les anges." He was impulsive and not always judicious in speaking to strangers or people whom he knew but slightly. Heaven knows that he had had experience of a milieu in which prudence is required, but he seemed to imagine that he could trust anyone who was not a Roman Catholic ecclesiastic-which was a mistake. Absolutely frank and loyal himself, he expected to find the same qualities in othThe result was that on more than one occasion reports of private conversations with him, garbled beyond all recognition, found their way into the Press.

ers.

His impulsive generosity made him disregard diplomatic devices.

I am a mere gander in diplomacy (he wrote to me), and am always under the lead of some professor of that noble art. My own impulse is always to cut

off my head and fling it at my enemy's head, which, I admit, is poor play and just what my enemy wants.

But for others he was always prudent and considerate and he never urged anyone to commit himself. "I should never dream of such a proposal," he wrote to me in 1905, à propos of a certain scheme, "if you were to be thereby exposed to any new odium; but, with the responsibilities, you enjoy the liberties and privileges of your evil fame." At that time he himself was muzzled; he knew that my reputation with the orthodox among our common co-religionists was already hopelessly compromised and could not be modified for the worse.

A keen sense of humor and a mordant wit were among the qualities of his complex and many-sided character. "I hope I am not humble," he said once, "from what I see of the virtue of humility in others." Those who have any experience of ecclesiastical humility, as it is practised in particular among the religious orders, will appreciate the point. In fact Father Tyrrell was intensely humble in the true sense of the term: no more unassuming or simple-minded man ever lived; he seemed to be entirely free from conceit or vanity. He hated controversy and shrank from publicity; it was by the irony of fate that he was dragged into the controversial arena; he entered it much against his will and only because he felt it to be an imperative duty, and he grudged the time spent in it. But perhaps his two most striking characteristics were his profound religious sense-I never met anyThe Cornbill Magazine.

one whose face was so visibly illuminated by a soul in close communion with the eternal-and his detestation of every form of sham and humbug and pretence. The official pomposity to which ecclesiastics are unfortunately so prone excited his ridicule; he could not put up with it. Never was anyone more entirely free from cant in every form; like Major Barbara in Mr. Shaw's play, he talked about religion quite naturally, "as if it were a pleasant subject." And there was an outspokenness about his conversation, more common in France than in England. He was often disgusted or revolted; never shocked.

If those who did not know Father Tyrrell personally think that I am exaggerating the beauty of his character, let them ask anyone who did know him well. He was not faultless: but it is the simple truth that it was not his intellectual capacity, great as it was, but his character that impressed one most. The question has been discussed whether or not he was an original and constructive thinker. In my opinion he was. Naturally he had not completed the synthesis which he sought; no single man could, and the time is not yet. But I believe that he has made a valuable contribution towards it. That, however, is not what gives him the chief claim on the remembrance of those who knew and loved him. What they cherish is the memory of one who was, in the untranslatable French phrase, une belle âme, who has left them an example of courageous faith and hope.

Robert Dell.

Margaret Gordon, who is the subject of this book, owes to her acquaintance with Carlyle the dignity of having a volume devoted to her biography. Not only has her own life been explored, but also the lives of her relations; and here we have appendices, genealogical tables, and all the apparatus of historical research. During the year 1818 Carlyle was living at Kirkcaldy, and he seems then for the first time to have fallen in love. The lady appears not to have returned the attachment, although she with great insight at the age of twenty-two perceived the genius of her lover of twenty-five. In the let ter in which she took leave of her admirer she used these significant expressions:-"Cultivate the milder dispositions of your heart, subdue the more extravagant visions of the brain. . . Genius will render you great. May virtue render you beloved! Let your light shine before men' and think them not unworthy this trouble." Many years after, when Carlyle wrote his reminiscences, he described the episode. says that Margaret Gordon "continued for perhaps some three years a figure hanging more or less in my fancy, on the usual romantic, and latterly quite

elegiac and silent terms."

He

The real interest of the story is this -was Margaret Gordon the sole original of the Blumine of Sartor Resartus? Mr. Archibald would have us answer that, although Jane Welsh might have inspired some of the details, it was Margaret Gordon who was the true original. Now there is a third claimant, whom Mr. Archibald dismisses by saying of her:-"There is not one atom of evidence to show that Carlyle was at any time in love with Kitty Kirkpatrick. It is therefore clear that her "Carlyle's First Love: Margaret Gordon." By Raymond Clare Archibald. London: John Lane. [10s. 6d. net.]

claim to being the original of Blumine may well be ruled out." We think that this sweeping statement will not stand when it is examined in the light of the facts, which have been carefully collected and marshalled by Mr. George Strachey in an article in the Nineteenth Century for September, 1892. Mr. Archibald shows by references that he has read this article, but apparently because it does not agree with his view of the case he dismisses it abruptly. We propose to give a few of the facts which support the contention that Kitty Kirkpatrick had a large share in the final picture of Blumine. Carlyle when he first came to London made the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Strachey, who then lived at Shooter's Hill. Mrs. Strachey's cousin, Miss Kitty Kirkpatrick, lived with them. She was a daughter of Colonel James Achilles Kirkpatrick, resident at Hyderabad, and his wife, a Persian lady, the niece of the Prime Minister of the Nizam. The first meeting is thus described by Carlyle in the Reminiscences:—

I remember, on our approach to the house, the effulgent vision of "dear Kitty" busied among the roses, and al

most buried under them, who, on sight of us, glided hastily in. Amiable, affectionate, graceful, might be called attractive (not slim enough for the title "pretty," not tall enough for "beautiful"); had something low-voiced, languidly harmonious; placid, sensuous, loved perfumes, etc.; a half-Begum in short; interesting specimen of the semiOriental Englishwoman.

The house at Shooter's Hill is described as "an umbrageous little park with roses, garden." So we get a picture of "Kitty" in a garden of roses.

Now on turning to Sartor Resartus we find the same materials, only with a poetic heightening. The Waldschloss

of the Zähdarms stood in "umbrageous lawns," and the garden house was "embowered amid rich foliage, rose-clusters, and the hues and odors of a thousand flowers." When Blumine appears we read: "Now that Rose-Goddess sits in the same circle with him"; and she is described as the "many-tinted radiant Aurora this fairest of a Morn

orient light-bringers ing-Star." There is nothing to make a connection between Margaret Gordon and the day's harbinger appropriate, but "Kitty's" other name was "Aurora."

whether the picture was founded on a real love episode or not. Mr. Archibald says peremptorily that there is "not an atom of evidence" of Carlyle's fondness for "Kitty." In the Nineteenth Century article already cited, which Mr. Archibald alludes to but disregards, there is a letter given which Carlyle wrote many years afterwards relating the episode of the rose garden to Mrs. Phillipps, the "Kitty" of early days. The letter followed a visit to Cheyne Walk, when Carlyle after a long talk said to his old friend: "You are not so beautiful as you were, but you are a deal wiser." This letter is too long to quote here in its entirety, but it is impossible to read it without being struck by the deep vein of tenderness which manifests itself. The writer was not a man who had tender sentiments always on the tip of his pen. Had the correspondent been nothing more than an old acquaintance, would such phrases as these have occurred?—

The love episode was treated by Carlyle in the unfinished novel, Wotton Reinfred, before he wrote Sartor Resartus. If Mr. Archibald had claimed that the Jane Montagu of this fragment represented Margaret Gordon, there would be little to say against the contention. One of the strongest pieces of evidence in favor of there being a large element of "Kitty" in the portrait of Blumine is to be found in the significant changes in passages which were transferred from the old work to the new. In Wotton Reinfred the love affair is put an end to by "an ancient maiden aunt"; in Sartor the passage is altered, and intervention comes from a "Duenna-Cousin." Margaret Gordon with her aunt, Mrs. Usher; Kitty Kirkpatrick with her cousin, Mrs. Strachey. The roses, Aurora, and the "DuennaCousin" have no meaning in connection with the young lady Carlyle knew at Kirkcaldy, but they are perfectly appropriate to the later acquaintance of Shooter's Hill. What seems to be the truth is that Carlyle when writing the fragment of the novel used his first love for his heroine. When he came to the later book he retouched the episode in the light of a second attachment. If for the reasons here given it is allowed that Carlyle used Kitty Kirkpatrick in his delineation of Blumine, there still remains the question

Your little visit did me a great deal of good. So interesting, so strange to see her we used to call "Kitty" emerging on me from the dusk of evening, like a dream become real! It set me thinking for many hours, upon and persons and events that can never cease to be important and affecting to me. With a great deal of readiness I send you the photograph which you are pleased to care for having: sorry only that it is such a grim affair (thanks to time, and what he brings and takes), though indeed this was never much a bright image, not even forty-eight years ago, when your bright eyes first took it in all around me is the sound as of evening bells, which are not sad only, or ought not to be, but beauNo tiful also, and blessed and quiet. more to-day, dear lady: my best wishes and affectionate regards will abide with you to the end.

And what, may be asked, was the attitude of "Kitty" towards Carlyle? The

following incident tells all that is known for certain. A son of the "Duenna-Cousin" once asked: "Kitty, were you ever in love with Carlyle?" and the answer was begun as follows: "Well-I am an old woman, and it doesn't matter now." At that moment a footman came into the room, The Spectator.

and the conversation was broken off, unhappily never to be resumed. Here we must leave the matter, confident that if Carlyle's imagination was first colored by Margaret Gordon, it received a deeper hue from the "RoseGoddess" whose name was Aurora.

The young Duke of Kelver joined the crowd in Bodstoke's Co-operative Hall. There was little likelihood that any one would recognize him; for, although he owned Bodstoke, five other small towns, and twenty-three villages, he had been abroad for the last four years. Indeed, he was in Nepaul when his father died and the vast inheritance settled upon him as simply as dew upon a flower.

He felt a strange curiosity about this demagogue Campion who was to address the Bodstoke Socialists in the hall.

"A dangerous man, your Grace," Mr. Milton, his estate agent, said of him that morning at the castle. "The worst kind, because he has ability attached to his animosities and ignorance. A thorough fanatic. I have little doubt that he is subsidized by his party for the sake of the poison he disseminates." The young Duke smiled at his agent's phrases. "Neatly put, Milton," he said.

Pressed for more information, the agent said Campion had been one of the late Duke's body-servants at the castle, that the late Duke had kicked him out of the castle one day for gross disobedience, and that was the end of him so far as the family was concerned.

The young Duke had come home feeling rather ashamed of himself for his recent neglect of his responsibilities. About a hundred tin-lined cases of

horned and other heads and pelts were all he had to show for those last four years. They didn't seem a lot to him

now.

No one knew better than he that his late father had an atrocious temper. He was an autocrat to the finger-nails. Even his son hadn't been able to stand him. Hence, in a measure, his prolonged exile. The late Duke told him before he started that he might go even beyond the remotest of earth's continents if he pleased, on the understanding that he returned when it was necessary.

The young Duke also had a temper, but he had learnt to keep it bottled. Even camping for months above the snowline in the Hindu Koosh hadn't loosed the cork from the bottle. had been greatly liked by most people out of England, from Governors-General to the lowliest of pack-carriers.

He