190 THE WIPE OF THOMAS CARLYLE. dressing-gown, and kissed me, and wept over me as I was in the act of getting down out the cab (much to the edifica- tion of the neighbors at their windows, I have no doubt) ; and then the maids appeared behind him, looking timidly, with flushed faces and tears in their eyes ; and the little one (the cook) threw her arms round my neck and fell to kissing me in the open street ; and the big one (the house- maid) I had to kiss, that she might not be made jealous the first thing." Though still weak and often suffering, she was never again as ill as she had been. She resumed the manage- ment of the household, wrote gay letters again, entertained company, and drove out frequently in a neat little carriage given her by Carlyle, and selected with deep pride and pleasure by herself. Her husband, during these last days (which neither of them knew to be her last), was as kind to her as his unpliant nature permitted, while she turned constantly to him with clinging affection pitiful to see. It was at this time that he went to Edinburgh to address the University. Her anxiety as to his success, and her final delight in his triumph, were characteristic and beautiful. " Mrs. Warren and Maggie were helping to dress me for Forster's birthday," she wrote, " when the telegraph boy gave his double knock. ' There it is ! ' I said. ' I am afraid, cousin, it is only the postman,' said Maggie. Jessie rushed up with the telegram. I tore it open and read ' From John Tyndall ' (Oh, God bless John Tyndall in this world and -the next !) ' to Mrs. Carlyle. A per- fect triumph ! ' I read it to myself, and then read it aloud to the gaping chorus. And chorus all began to dance and clap their hands. ' Eh, Mrs. Carlyle ! Eh, hear to that ! ' cried Jessie. ' I told you, ma'am,' cried Mrs. Warren, ' I told you how it would be.' ' I'm so glad, cousin ! you'll be all right now, cousin,' twittered Maggie,
