nfused _melee_ of opinions and impulses
that Thomas Carlyle strode into the lists with his strange book. On the
one hand it is a Titanic defence of the universe against the stage
Titanism of Byron's _Cain_. On the other hand it is a revolt of reality
against the empire of proprieties and appearances and shams. In a
generation divided between the red cap of France and the coal-scuttle
bonnet of England Carlyle stands bareheaded under the stars. Along with
him stand Benjamin Disraeli, combining a genuine sympathy for the poor
with a most grotesque delight in the aristocracy; and John Henry Newman,
fierce against the Liberals, and yet the author of "Lead, kindly Light."

The book was handicapped more heavily by its own style than perhaps any
book that ever fought its way from neglect and vituperation to
idolatrous popularity. There is in it an immense amount of gag and
patter, much of which is brilliant, but so wayward and fantastic as to
give a sense of restlessness and perpetual noise. The very title is
provoking, and not less so is the explanation of it--the pretended
discovery of a German volume upon "Clothes, their origin and influence,"
published by Stillschweigen and Co., of Weissnichtwo, and written by
Diogenes Teufelsdroeckh. The puffs from the local newspaper, and the
correspondence with Hofrath "Grasshopper," in no wise lessen the odds
against such a work being taken seriously.

Again, as might be expected of a Professor of "Things in General," the
book is discursive to the point of bewilderment. The whole progeny of
"aerial, aquatic, and terrestrial devils" breaks loose upon us just as
we are about to begin such a list of human apparel as never yet was
published save in the catalogue of a museum collected by a madman. A dog
with a tin kettle at his tail rushes mad and jingling across the street,
leaving behind him a new view of the wild tyranny of Ambition. A great
personage loses much sawdust through a rent in his unfortunate nether
garments. Sirius and the Pleiades look down from above. The book is
everywhere, and everywhere at once. The _asides_ seem to occupy more
space than the main thesis, whatever that may be. Just when you think
you have found the meaning of the author at last, another display of
these fireworks distracts your attention. It is not dark enough to see
their full splendour, yet they confuse such daylight as you have.

Yet the main thesis cannot long remain in doubt. Through whatever
amaz