his flesh. They are not stolen goods, nor elegant exhibitions of
recently and hastily acquired wares.

This being so, it may be as well if, before proceeding any further, I
attempt, with a scrupulous regard to brevity, to state what I take to
be the invariable indications of Mr. Carlyle's literary handiwork--the
tokens of his presence--'Thomas Carlyle, his mark.'

First of all, it may be stated, without a shadow of a doubt, that he
is one of those who would sooner be wrong with Plato than right with
Aristotle; in one word, he is a mystic. What he says of Novalis may
with equal truth be said of himself: 'He belongs to that class of
persons who do not recognise the syllogistic method as the chief organ
for investigating truth, or feel themselves bound at all times to stop
short where its light fails them. Many of his opinions he would
despair of proving in the most patient court of law, and would remain
well content that they should be disbelieved there.' In philosophy we
shall not be very far wrong if we rank Carlyle as a follower of Bishop
Berkeley; for an idealist he undoubtedly was. 'Matter,' says he,
'exists only spiritually, and to represent some idea, and body it
forth. Heaven and Earth are but the time-vesture of the Eternal. The
Universe is but one vast symbol of God; nay, if thou wilt have it,
what is man himself but a symbol of God? Is not all that he does
symbolical, a revelation to sense of the mystic God-given force that
is in him?--a gospel of Freedom, which he, the "Messias of Nature,"
preaches as he can by act and word.' 'Yes, Friends,' he elsewhere
observes, 'not our logical mensurative faculty, but our imaginative
one, is King over us, I might say Priest and Prophet, to lead us
heavenward, or magician and wizard to lead us hellward. The
understanding is indeed thy window--too clear thou canst not make it;