erism, or
ignorance of men and affairs. Paul had none of these absurdities about
him; but was an accomplished person, as well as a divine speaker. His
doctrine of being all things to all men, that he might win souls to
Christ, is, like good manners and politeness, a part of that mundane
philosophy which obtains in every society, both as theory and
performance; not, however, in its literal meaning, which would involve
all sorts of hypocrisy and lies as its accessories, but in the sense
of ability to meet all kinds of men on their own grounds and with
their own enginery of warfare.

Strength, whether of mind or body, is sure to command respect, even
though it be used against ourselves; for we Anglo-Saxons are all
pugilists. A man, therefore, who accredits his metal by the work he
accomplishes, will be readily enough heard when he comes to speak and
labor upon higher platforms. This was the case with Carlyle; and when
he published that new Book of Job, that weird and marvellous Pilgrim's
Progress of a modern cultivated soul, the "Sartor Resartus," in
"Fraser's Magazine," strange, wild, and incomprehensible as it was to
most men, they did not put it contemptuously aside, but pondered it,
laughed at it, trembled over it and its dread apocalyptical visions
and revelations, respecting its earnestness and eloquence, although
not comprehending what manner of writing it essentially was. Carlyle
enjoyed the perplexity of his readers and reviewers, neither of whom,
with the exception of men like Sterling, and a writer in one of the
Quarterlies, seemed to know what they were talking about when they
spoke of it. The criticisms upon it were exceedingly comical in many
instances, and the author put the most notable of these together, and
always alluded to them with roars of laughter. The book has never yet
received justice at the hands of any literary tribunal. It requires,
indeed, a large amount of culture to appreciate it, either as a work
of art, or as a living flame-painting of spiritual struggle and
revelation. In his previous writings he had insisted upon the
sacredness and infinite value of the human soul,--upon the wonder and
mystery of life, and its dread surroundings,--upon the divine
significance of the universe, with its star pomp, and overhanging
immensities,--and upon the primal necessity for each man to stand with
awe and reverence in this august and solemn presence, if he would hope
to receive any glimpses of its meani