Last words of Thomas Carlyle - Warburg Institute

162 EXCURSION TO PARISHalt ! Browning has my key ; I have to turn back,and get it : happily this proves the last remora, andnow I do get along and reach Meurice's—at five insteadof four P.M.: Friday, the 25th September, 1851.—Andhere, it being now two o'clock, and the sun inviting,I will draw bridle, and stop for the present day.A brisk, bright autumn evening as I rolled throughthe streets of Paris ; recognise my route first on theBoulevard, still better in the Eue de la Paix and PlaceVendome ; cigar nearly done, we are at the door ofMeurice's in the Eue de Eivoli, a crowd of cabs andother such miscellanies loitering there. Concierge,old good-humoured woman with black eyes and cleancap, knows the number of the Ashburtons, knows notwhether they are at home : my cabman, an old, poor,good-humoured knave of the whip, is defective inpetite monnaie ; at length by aid of the concierge wesettle handsomely. Mason, too, Lord Ashburton'sservant, appears, and I get aloft into my appointedbedroom, 'No. 22,' a bare fantasticplace, looking outinto the street—bad prospects of sleep—though Iamat the very top of the house for that object. BothLady and Lord have gone out, not finding me at fouras covenanted; dinner is to be 'at six precisely.'Walk on the streets, finishing my cigar ; dress, havemelancholy survey of my bedroom ; dinner in the dimsalle a manger, seasoned with English news; afterdinner to the Theatre Francais, where Lord Normanbyhas been pleased to furnish us his box.Very bad box.