e, presented a requisition to the Faculty of
Advocates to appoint Carlyle. When asked his consent to be nominated,
Carlyle replied: 'Accept my kind thanks, you and all your associates,
for your zeal to serve me.... Ten years ago such an invitation might
perhaps have been decisive of much for me, but it is too late now; too
late for many reasons, which I need not trouble you with at present.'

A very severe blow now fell upon Mrs Carlyle, who received news from
Templand that her mother had been struck by apoplexy, and was
dangerously ill. Although unfit for travelling, she caught the first
train from Euston Square to Liverpool, but at her uncle's house there
she learnt that all was over. Mrs Carlyle lay ill in Liverpool, unable
to stir. After a while she was able to go back to London, where Carlyle
joined her in the month of May. It was on his return journey that he
paid a visit to Dr Arnold at Rugby, when he had an opportunity, under
his host's genial guidance, to explore the field of Naseby.

His sad occupations in Scotland, and the sad thoughts they suggested,
made Carlyle disinclined for society. He had a room arranged for him at
the top of his house, and there he sate and smoked, and read books on
Cromwell, 'the sight of Naseby having brought the subject back out of
"the abysses."' Meanwhile he had a pleasant trip to Ostend with Mr
Stephen Spring Rice, Commissioner of Customs, of which he wrote vivid
descriptions.

On October 25, 1842, Carlyle wrote in his journal: 'For many months
there has been no writing here. Alas! what was there to write? About
myself, nothing; or less, if that was possible. I have not got one word
to stand upon paper in regard to Oliver. The beginnings of work are even
more formidable than the executing of it.' But another subject was to
engross his attention for a little while. The distress of the poor
became intense; less in London, however, than in other large towns. 'I
declare,' he wrote to his mother early in January 1843, 'I declare I
begin to feel as if I should not hold my peace any longer, as if I
should perhaps open my mouth in a way that some of them are not
expecting--we shall see if this book were done.' On the 20th he wrote:
'I hope it will be a rather useful kind of book.' He could not go on
with Cromwell till he had unburdened his soul. 'The look of the world,'
he said, 'is really quite oppressive to me. Eleven thousand souls in
Paisley alone living on threehalfpence a day, a