It was through one of the Russells, with whom my father was
acquainted, that I was permitted with him to call on Carlyle, an
event amongst the greatest in my life, and all the happier for me
because I did not ask to go.
What I am going to say now I hardly like to mention, because of its
privacy, but it is so much to my father's honour that I cannot omit
it. Besides, almost everybody concerned is now dead. When he left
Bedford he was considerably in debt, through the falling off in his
book-selling business which I have just mentioned, caused mainly by
his courageous partisanship. His official salary was not sufficient
to keep him, and in order to increase it, he began to write for the
newspapers. During the session this was very hard work. He could
not leave the House till it rose, and was often not at home till two
o'clock in the morning or later, too tired to sleep. He was never
able to see a single revise of what he wrote. In the end he paid
his debts in full.
My father was a perfectly honest man, and hated shiftiness even
worse than downright lying. The only time he gave me a thrashing
was for prevarication. He had a plain, but not a dull mind, and
loved poetry of a sublime cast, especially Milton. I can hear him
even now repeat passages from the Comus, which was a special
favourite.
Pages:
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32