Last words of Thomas Carlyle - Warburg Institute

134 WOTTON REINPREDothers suffer, she herself suffers still more. It is longsince I discovered that she had no happiness, nopeace, but rather the gnawing of an inward discontent,which never dies, and often I have thought itssource lay deeperthan mere worldly disappointment.Perhaps her marriage was unfortunate, she willnotspeak of it, she sternly avoids it, and to Jaspar herson she shows less affection than even to me.Perhaps— But alas ! Do not mystery and mischanceenviron me and gird me round ? My wholehistory is a riddle, which he were a cunning seerthat could read me ! Disquietude of conscience myunhappy relative may have or not, disquietude ofsome kind she too evidently has. No system of circumstances,no scene, no circle of society can longplease her, nowhere can she take up her permanentabode, but she wanders from place to place seekingthat rest which she knows beforehand is not to befound. Of late years her misery seems increasing,there are times when she shrinks from human presence,for days she will sit secluded in her room,refusing all sympathy or trustful communication, andher look when it falls on you is cruel and cold. Poorlady ! Herheart will break one day, for she is toostrong-willed to end in madness.'My native place and hers is this North of England,but directly on the death of my parents she retiredwith me to Vevey in Switzerland, where she hadbefore resided.Thus French became a second mother-