nt than the material life, and this he showed by the humorous
philosophy of clothes, which he unfolded in the style of the German
pedants. Carlyle evidently took great pleasure in developing this
satire on German philosophy, which is full of broad humor.

_The French Revolution_ has been aptly called "history by lightning
flashes." One needs to have a good general idea of the period before
reading Carlyle's work. Then he can enjoy this series of splendid
pictures of the upheaval of the nether world and the strange moral
monsters that sated their lust for blood and power in those evil
days, which witnessed the terrible payment of debts of selfish
monarchy. Carlyle reaches the height of his power in this book, which
may be read many times with profit.

The sources of Carlyle's strength as a writer are his moral and
spiritual fervor and his power of making the reader see what he sees.
The first insures him enduring fame, as it makes what he wrote eighty
years ago as fresh and as full of fine stimulus as though it were
written yesterday. The other faculty was born in him. He had an eye
for pictures; he described what he saw down to the minutest detail; he
made the men of the French Revolution as real as the people he met on
his tour of Ireland. He made Cromwell and Frederick men of blood and
iron, not mere historical lay figures. And over all he cast the
glamour of his own indomitable spirit, which makes life look good even
to the man who feels the pinch of poverty and whose outlook is dreary.
You can't keep down the boy who makes Carlyle his daily companion; he
will rise by very force of fighting spirit of this dour old
Scotchman.

DE QUINCEY AS A MASTER OF STYLE

HE WROTE "CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER"--DREAMED
DREAMS AND SAW VISIONS AND PICTURED THEM IN POETIC PROSE.

Of all the English writers Thomas De Quincey must be given the palm
for rhythmical prose. He is as stately as Milton, with more than
Milton's command of rhythm. If you read aloud his best passages, which
are written in what he calls his bravura style, you have a near
approach to the music of the organ. De Quincey was so nice a judge of
words, he knew so well how to balance his periods, that one of his
sentences gives to the appreciative ear the same delight as a stanza
of perfect verse.

Ruskin had much of De Quincey's command of impassioned prose, but he
never rose to the same sustained heights as the older author. In
fact,