not an Integer
only, but a Square and Cube. With astonishment the world will recognize
that the Tailor is its Hierophant and Hierarch, or even its God.

"As I stood in the Mosque of St. Sophia, and looked upon these
Four-and-Twenty Tailors, sewing and embroidering that rich Cloth, which
the Sultan sends yearly for the Caaba of Mecca, I thought within myself:
How many other Unholies has your covering Art made holy, besides this
Arabian Whinstone!

"Still more touching was it when, turning the corner of a lane, in
the Scottish Town of Edinburgh, I came upon a Signpost, whereon stood
written that such and such a one was 'Breeches-Maker to his Majesty;'
and stood painted the Effigies of a Pair of Leather Breeches, and
between the knees these memorable words, SIC ITUR AD ASTRA. Was not
this the martyr prison-speech of a Tailor sighing indeed in bonds, yet
sighing towards deliverance, and prophetically appealing to a better
day? A day of justice, when the worth of Breeches would be revealed to
man, and the Scissors become forever venerable.

"Neither, perhaps, may I now say, has his appeal been altogether in
vain. It was in this high moment, when the soul, rent, as it were, and
shed asunder, is open to inspiring influence, that I first conceived
this Work on Clothes: the greatest I can ever hope to do; which has
already, after long retardations, occupied, and will yet occupy, so
large a section of my Life; and of which the Primary and simpler Portion
may here find its conclusion."

CHAPTER XII. FAREWELL.

So have we endeavored, from the enormous, amorphous Plum-pudding, more
like a Scottish Haggis, which Herr Teufelsdrockh had kneaded for
his fellow-mortals, to pick out the choicest Plums, and present them
separately on a cover of our own. A laborious, perhaps a thankless
enterprise; in which, however, something of hope has occasionally
cheered us, and of which we can now wash our hands not altogether
without satisfaction. If hereby, though in barbaric wise, some morsel
of spiritual nourishment have been added to the scanty ration of our
beloved British world, what nobler recompense could the Editor desire?
If it prove otherwise, why should he murmur? Was not this a Task which
Destiny, in any case, had appointed him; which having now done with, he
sees his general Day's-work so much the lighter, so much the shorter?

Of Professor Teufelsdrockh, it seems impossible to take leave without
a mingled feeling of aston