Last words of Thomas Carlyle - Warburg Institute

136 WOTTON EEINFREDsoul in all troublous seasons. Vevey is still dear tome, and the great Mont Blanc with his throne ofglacier-rubies still visits me in sleep and shines in thebackground of many a dream.*It was not without bitter tears that I left thisfirst home and all that I had ever loved or known inlife. But I was now in my twelfth summer, and mytears soon dried, for England and London were beforeme. What a world of hopes ! England the land ofmy nativity, where in some lone churchyard, which Ioften figm-ed, were the graves of my parents, overwhich I should indeed weep, but tears so soft andblessed ! London, the city of wonders, where I wasto see and learn so much ! My heart leapt at thethought, in spite of all perversities, caprices, nayNot socruelties, I was the happiest little soul alive.my aunt ; her gloom seemed to deepen as sheapproached the English shore, and I was more thanonce reminded that but for me and my interests shewould not have set foot on it again ; but in kinderhours she told me I might now be happier, ifI weregood ; I was to complete my learning ; by and by Ishould meet friends, be introduced to society, of which,however^ I ought ratEer'to beware than expect muchgood. I was too young to understand her fully, butmy images of danger and enjoyment were alikegorgeous and almost alikeattractive, and her ideas Istill rocked to and fro on the wildest waves.'London fulfilled neither my expectations nor hers.