Last words of Thomas Carlyle - Warburg Institute

'122 WOTTON EEINFREDobserved a cavalcade emerging from the dwarfthickets that skirted the base of a neighbouring cliff,and advancing towards him at a brisk pace ; or,rather, perhaps, towards his track which windedforward through the wolds obliquely to their presentone. The evening light shone full on the group,which consisted of two men gaily mounted, and alady between them managing a light Arab with theskill and elegance of a complete equestrian. Longfolds of a dark riding-dress flowed over her feet andthe side of her horse ; black locks waved in gracefulclusters from beneath her gold-banded fur harrettebut, as she approached, the first glimpse of herfeatures struck our hero with a nameless feeling.His presence also in these solitudes at such an hourseemed to give surprise in its turn, for the wholeparty simultaneously pulled in as they noticed himand the lady drew back and hastily dropped her veil.* 'A good evening, fair sir ! said one of the riders,*advancing near him. You linger late on the moors.Has anything befallen ?Wotton was instinctively clinging to his horse,which this new arrival had disturbed ; but in hisconfusion he scarcely knew what the stranger hadsaid, much less how to answer him with courtesy ;answered merely with a slight bow and an inquiring'Sir ? '* Nay, Jack, you are wrong, 'tis another ! ' criedthe second horseman, also coming up.* Pardon us,;he