Carlyle had at last slain his Minotaur, and stood before the
world as a victorious Theseus, everywhere courted and acclaimed, his
hard-earned rest only disturbed by a shower of honours. His position
as the foremost prose writer of his day was as firmly established in
Germany, where his book was at once translated and read by all readers of
history, as in England. Scotland, now fully awake to her reflected fame,
made haste to make amends. Even the leaders of the sects, bond and
"free," who had denounced him, were now eager to proclaim that he had
been intrinsically all along, though sometimes in disguise, a champion of
their faith. No men knew better how to patronise, or even seem to lead,
what they had failed to quell. The Universities made haste with their
burnt-offerings. In 1856 a body of Edinburgh students had prematurely
repeated the attempt of their forerunners in Glasgow to confer on him
their Lord Rectorship, and failed. In 1865 he was elected, in opposition
again to Mr. Disraeli, to succeed Mr. Gladstone, the genius of elections
being in a jesting mood. He was prevailed on to accept the honour, and,
later, consented to deliver in the spring of 1866 the customary Inaugural
Address. Mrs. Carlyle's anxiety on this occasion as to his success and
his health is a tribute to her constant and intense fidelity. He went
north to his Installation, under the kind care of encouraging friends,
imprimis of Professor Tyndall, one of his truest; they stopped on the road
at Fryston, with Lord Houghton, and there met Professor Huxley, who
accompanied them to Edinburgh.
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