In this he was very likely unjust, for Carlyle was tenderly attached to his "Jeanie," and would have done anything for her if he had thought of it.

But he was absorbed in Friederich, whose battles he would fight over again with the tired invalid on sofa.

If woman be the name of frailty, the name of vanity is man.

Carlyle was fond of his wife, but he was thinking of himself.

His "Niagaras of scorn and vituperation" were a vent for his own feelings, a sort of moral gout.