CHAPTER VI.

OLD CLOTHES.

As mentioned above, Teufelsdröckh, though a sansculottist, is in practice probably the politest man extant: his whole heart and life are penetrated and informed with the spirit of politeness; a noble natural Courtesy shines through him, beautifying his vagaries; like sun-light, making a rosy-fingered, rainbow-dyed Aurora out of mere aqueous clouds; nay, brightening London-smoke itself into gold vapour, as from the crucible of an alchemist. Hear in what earnest though fantastic wise he expresses himself on this head:

'Shall Courtesy be done only to the rich, and only by the rich? In Good-breeding, which differs, if at all, from High-breeding, only as it grace' fully remembers the rights of others, rather than ' gracefully insists on its own rights, I discern no special connexion with wealth or birth: but rather ' that it lies in human nature itself, and is due from 'all men towards all men. Of a truth, were your 'Schoolmaster at his post, and worth any thing when 'there, this, with so much else, would be reformed. 'Nay, each man were then also his neighbour's 'schoolmaster; till at length a rude-visaged, unman'nered Peasant could no more be met with, than a

'Peasant unacquainted with botanical Physiology, " or who felt not that the clod he broke was created ' in Heaven.

For whether thou bear a sceptre or a sledgehammer, art thou not ALIVE; is not this thy bro'ther ALIVE? "There is but one Temple in the 'world," says Novalis, "and that Temple is the Body of Man. Nothing is holier than this high 'Form. Bending before men is a reverence done to 'this Revelation in the Flesh. We touch Heaven, ' when we lay our hands on a human Body."

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'On which ground, I would fain carry it farther 'than most do; and whereas the English Johnson only bowed to every Clergyman, or man with a 'shovel-hat, I would bow to every Man with any sort of hat, or with no hat whatever. Is he not 'a Temple, then; the visible Manifestation and Impersonation of the Divinity? And yet, alas, such 'indiscriminate bowing serves not. For there is a 'Devil dwells in man, as well as a Divinity; and 'too often the bow is but pocketed by the former. 'It would go to the pocket of Vanity (which is your 'clearest phasis of the Devil, in these times); there'fore must we withhold it.

'The gladder am I, on the other hand, to do reverence to those Shells and outer Husks of the 'Body, wherein no devilish passion any longer lodges, 'but only the pure emblem and effigies of Man: I

mean, to Empty, or even to Cast Clothes. Nay, is ' it not to Clothes that most men do reverence: to the 'fine frogged broad-cloth, nowise to the "straddling 'animal with bandy legs" which it holds, and makes 'a Dignitary of? Whoever saw any Lord my-lorded

in tattered blanket fastened with wooden skewer? 'Nevertheless, I say, there is in such worship a shade ' of hypocrisy, a practical deception: for how often 'does the Body appropriate what was meant for the • Cloth only! Whoso would avoid falsehood, which ' is the essence of all Sin, will perhaps see good to 'take a different course. That reverence which cannot act without obstruction and perversion when 'the Clothes are full, may have free course when they are empty. Even as, for Hindoo Worshippers, the Pagoda is not less sacred than the God; so do I too worship the hollow cloth Garment with equal fervour, as when it contained the Man: nay, 'with more, for I now fear no deception, of myself or of others.

'Did not King Toomtabard, or, in other words, John Baliol, reign long over Scotland; the man 'John Baliol being quite gone, and only the "Toom 'Tabard" (Empty Gown) remaining? What still dignity dwells in a suit of Cast Clothes! How meekly it bears its honours! No haughty looks, 'no scornful gesture: silent and serene, it fronts 'the world; neither demanding worship, nor afraid to miss it. The Hat still carries the physiognomy ' of its Head: but the vanity and the stupidity, and goose-speech which was the sign of these two, are gone. The Coat-arm is stretched out, but not to 'strike; the Breeches, in modest simplicity, depend ' at ease, and now at last have a graceful flow; the 'Waistcoat hides no evil passion, no riotous desire; hunger or thirst now dwells not in it. Thus all is 'purged from the grossness of sense, from the cark'ing cares and foul vices of the World; and rides

'there, on its Clothes-horse; as, on a Pegasus, might some skyey Messenger, or purified Apparition, vi'siting our low Earth.

'Often, while I sojourned in that monstrous tuberosity of Civilised Life, the Capital of England; ' and meditated, and questioned Destiny, under that 'ink-sea of vapour, black, thick, and multifarious as 'Spartan broth; and was one lone Soul amid those 'grinding millions;-often have I turned into their 'Old-Clothes Market to worship. With awe-struck ' heart I walk through that Monmouth Street, with 'its empty Suits, as through a Sanhedrim of stain'less Ghosts. Silent are they, but expressive in 'their silence: the past witnesses and instruments of 'Woe and Joy, of Passions, Virtues, Crimes, and all 'the fathomless tumult of Good and Evil in "the 'Prison men call Life." Friends! trust not the ' heart of that man for whom old Clothes are not ve'nerable. Watch, too, with reverence, that bearded 'Jewish Highpriest, who with hoarse voice, like some Angel of Doom, summons them from the four 'winds! On his head, like the Pope, he has three Hats,—a real triple tiara; on either hand are the 'similitude of wings, whereon the summoned Garments come to alight; and ever,, as he slowly 'cleaves the air, sounds forth his deep fateful note, as if through a trumpet he were proclaiming : "Ghosts of Life, come to Judgment!" Reck not, ye fluttering Ghosts: he will purify you in his Purgatory, with fire and with water; and, one day, 'new-created ye shall reappear. Oh! let him in 'whom the flame of Devotion is ready to go out, ' who has never worshipped, and knows not what to

'worship, pace and repace, with austerest thought, 'the pavement of Monmouth Street, and say whe'ther his heart and his eyes still continue dry. If 'Field Lane, with its long fluttering rows of yel'low handkerchiefs, be a Dionysius' Ear, where, in 'stifled jarring hubbub, we hear the Indictment 'which Poverty and Vice bring against lazy Wealth, 'that it has left them there cast out and trodden under foot of Want, Darkness, and the Devil,then is Monmouth Street a Mirza's Hill, where, ' in motley vision, the whole Pageant of Existence passes awfully before us; with its wail and jubi'lee, mad loves and mad hatreds, church-bells and 'gallows-ropes, farce - tragedy, beast-godhood,-the 'Bedlam of Creation!'

To most men, as it does to ourselves, all this will seem overcharged. We too have walked through Monmouth Street; but with little feeling of 'Devotion: probably in part because the contemplative process is so fatally broken in upon by the brood of money-changers who nestle in that Church, and importune the worshipper with merely secular proposals. Whereas Teufelsdröckh might be in that happy middle-state, which leaves to the Clothesbroker no hope either of sale or of purchase, and so be allowed to linger there without molestation.Something we would have given to see the little philosophical figure, with its steeple-hat and loose flowing skirts, and eyes in a fine frenzy, 'pacing and repacing in austerest thought' that foolish Street; which to him was a true Delphic avenue, and supernatural Whispering - gallery, where the Ghosts of