With another man, of whom he now became the neighbour—­Leigh Hunt—­he had already formed a slight acquaintance, which soon ripened into a warm friendship and affection on both sides, in spite of their singular difference of temperament and character.

“It was on the 8th of February, 1832,” says Mr. Thornton Hunt, “that the writer of the essays named ‘Characteristics’ received, apparently from Mr. Leigh Hunt, a volume entitled ‘Christianism,’ for which he begged to express his thanks.  By the 20th of February, Carlyle, then lodging in London, was inviting Leigh Hunt to tea, as the means of their first meeting; and by the 20th of November, Carlyle wrote from Dumfries, urging Leigh Hunt to ’come hither and see us when you want to rusticate a month.  Is that for ever impossible?’ The philosopher afterwards came to live in the next street to his correspondent, in Chelsea, and proved to be one of Leigh Hunt’s kindest, most faithful, and most considerate friends."[A]

[Footnote A:  From “The Correspondence of Leigh Hunt,” edited by his eldest son.  London:  Smith, Elder and Co. 1862.  Vol. 1., p. 321.]

Mr. Horne tells a story very characteristic of both men.  Soon after the publication of “Heroes and Hero Worship,” they were at a small party, when a conversation was started between these two concerning the heroism of man.  “Leigh Hunt had said something about the islands of the blest, or El Dorado, or the Millennium, and was flowing on his bright and hopeful way, when Carlyle dropped some heavy tree-trunk across Hunt’s pleasant stream, and banked it up with philosophical doubts and objections at every interval of the speaker’s joyous progress.  But the unmitigated Hunt never ceased his overflowing anticipations, nor the saturnine Carlyle his infinite demurs to those finite flourishings.  The listeners laughed and applauded by turns; and had now fairly pitted them against each other, as the philosopher of hopefulness and of the unhopeful.  The contest continued with all that ready wit and philosophy, that mixture of pleasantry and profundity, that extensive knowledge of books and character, with their ready application in argument or illustration, and that perfect ease and good nature which distinguish both of these men.  The opponents were so well matched that it was quite clear the contest would never come to an end.  But the night was far advanced, and the party broke up.  They all sallied forth, and leaving the close room, the candles and the arguments behind them, suddenly found themselves in presence of a most brilliant starlight night.  They all looked up.  ‘Now,’ thought Hunt, ‘Carlyle’s done for! he can have no answer to that!’ ‘There,’ shouted Hunt, ’look up there, look at that glorious harmony, that sings with infinite voices an eternal song of Hope in the soul of man.’  Carlyle looked up.  They all remained silent to hear what he would say.  They began to think he was silenced at last—­he was a mortal man.  But out