iety about Augustus, and I have scarcely written to any one except about him, and to those who could give me the most accurate details. To-day, however, when I have learnt that we have lost him forever in this world, I feel a longing to tighten the tie with those brothers who are still left to me; and while I have been thinking over all I had, and all I have lost, in him, I have also called to mind what I still have in my other brothers. How much, dearest Francis, do I owe to you. How much have I owed to you ever since my earliest years. How patient you were with me; how indulgent; what pains you took with me; how you gave up your time to me! What unvarying, unmerited kindness have you shown me all my life long! And though we have been so much separated by circumstances of late years, and though my negligence has often let a very long period pass without any communication between us, the fault has been entirely on my side, and I found last year at Naples that your affection was as strong as ever. Such indeed, has always been my situation, that I have constantly been the receiver of kindnesses from all my brothers, and have hardly ever been able to do any thing in return. I can merely

acknowledge and feel grateful for them. And to-day has re-enlivened my gratitude to you, and makes me anxious to assure you that all your goodness has not been thrown away on one who is utterly unmindful of it. I want, too, to thank you for all your kindness and attention to Augustus. Alas, that I could do nothing for him! But you and Marcus have fulfilled my share of his nursing as well as your own, and nothing in this respect seems to have been wanting. Still, I can hardly bring myself to believe that our brotherhood has lost its heavenliest flower. It seemed to be such an essential part of one's self. I could never conceive myself as living without my three brothers, and almost fancied that time could have no power over a bond so strong in affection. God grant that the same bond which has existed here on earth, and which has now begun to dissolve, may hereafter be united again in still stronger affection in heaven!

THOMAS CARLYLE TO HIS BROTHER ALEXANDER CARLYLE.

EDINBURGH, December 5, 1820.

I sit down with the greatest pleasure to answer your most acceptable letter. The warm

affection, the generous sympathy displayed in it go near the heart, and shed over me a meek and kindly dew of brotherly love more refreshing than any but a wandering, forlorn mortal can well imagine. Some of your expressions affect me almost to weakness-I might say, with pain, if I did not hope the course of events will change our feelings from anxiety to congratulation, from soothing adversity to adorning prosperity. I marked your disconsolate look. It has often since been painted in the mind's eye; but believe me, my boy, these days will pass over. We shall all get to rights in good time, and, long after, cheer many a winter evening by recalling such pensive, but yet amiable and manly, thoughts to our minds. And in the meanwhile let me utterly sweep away the vain fear of our forgetting one another. There is less danger of this than of any thing. We Carlyles are a clannish people, because we have all something original in our formation, and find therefore less than common sympathy with others; so that we are constrained, as it were, to draw to one another, and to seek that friendship in our own blood which we do not find so readily elsewhere.

Jack and I and you will respect one another to the end of our lives, because I predict that our conduct will be worthy of respect, and we will love one another, because the feelings of our young days-feelings impressed most deeply on the young heart-are all intertwined and united by the tenderest yet strongest ties of our nature. But independently of this your fear is in vain. Continue to cultivate your abilities, and to behave steadily and quietly as you have done, and neither of the two literati * are likely to find many persons more qualified to appreciate their feelings than the farmer their brother. Greek words and Latin are fine things, but they cannot hide the emptiness and lowness of many who employ them.

THOMAS CARLYLE TO HIS BROTHER JOHN
CARLYLE.

CHELSEA, September 21, 1834.

Your kind letter, my dear Jack, was read over with a feeling such as it merited; it went nearer my heart than any thing addressed to me for long. I am not sure that there were not tears in the business, but they were not sad ones.

* His brother John and himself.

Your offers and purposes are worthy of a brother, and I were but unworthy if I met them in any mean spirit. I believe there is no other man living from whom such offers as yours were other to me than a pleasant sound which I must disregard; but it is not so with these; for I actually can (without damage to any good feeling in me), and will, if need be, make good use of them. We will, as you say, stand by one another; and so each of us, were all other men arranged against us, have one good friend. Well that it is so. Wohl ihm dem die Geburt den Bruder gab. I will not speak any more about this, but keep it laid up in my mind as a thing to act by. I feel, as I once said, double-strong in the possession of my poor Doil,* and so I suppose we shall quarrel many times yet, and instantly agree again, and argue and sympathize, and on the whole stand by one another through good and evil, and turn two fronts to the world while we are both spared in it. Amen! There are many wallowing in riches, splendent in dignities, who have no such possession as this. Let us be thankful for it, and approve ourselves worthy of it. . . . *A family nickname for his brother.