Last words of Thomas Carlyle - Warburg Institute

WOTTOX RETXFRED 135tongue to me, and the Lemau Lake and the wildmountains of Savoy are the earhest scenes of mymemory. Our way of Hfe here was sombre enough ;except with certain clergy of the place, and one ortwo sedate persons chiefly of hterary habits, my aunthad no society ;the English travellers, of whom manypassed, she carefully avoided, nay repelled if theysought her.at a boarding-school ;Jaspar was not with us but in Englandone grave old woman was ouronly servant. Yet this solitude was not lonesome tome, nor with ail my Httle griefs did I feel myselfunhappy. What wealth is in childhood, how thatmorning sun makes a very desert beautiful ! Onehas yet no consciousness of self, one is a thought, anaction, not a thinker or an actor. They praised mefor dihgence at school, the whole world was indeed aschool to me, where day after day I was learning newwonders, and forming new ties of love. "What joywhen I could escape to bound over the meadows withmy httle sister maidens ! But still deeper joy I feltwhen in soUtary castle building I shaped out thefuture, and saw myself not a princesswith kneelingknights—no, no !—but a Corinna, a poetess, anintellectual woman ! For towards this goal, whetherby natural temper, or the influence of our literaryvisitors, my whole soul was akeady bent. Blamenot my mad whim ! I cannot blame it, though Iknow its emptiness ; this poor vision has come beforeme in its brightness, and been a city of refuge to my