ously yet courageously, through
the twopenny post, application to the famed redoubtable OLIVER YORKE
was now made: an interview, interviews with that singular man have
taken place; with more of assurance on our side, with less of satire
(at least of open satire) on his, than we anticipated;--for the rest,
with such issue as is now visible. As to those same 'patriotic
_Libraries_,' the Hofrath's counsel could only be viewed with silent
amazement; but with his offer of Documents we joyfully and almost
instantaneously closed. Thus, too, in the sure expectation of these,
we already see our task begun; and this our _Sartor Resartus_, which
is properly a 'Life and Opinions of Herr Teufelsdroeckh,' hourly
advancing.

* * * * *

Of our fitness for the Enterprise, to which we have such title and
vocation, it were perhaps uninteresting to say more. Let the British
reader study and enjoy, in simplicity of heart, what is here presented
him, and with whatever metaphysical acumen and talent for meditation
he is possessed of. Let him strive to keep a free, open sense; cleared
from the mists of prejudice, above all from the paralysis of cant; and
directed rather to the Book itself than to the Editor of the Book. Who
or what such Editor may be, must remain conjectural, and even
insignificant:[1] it is a voice publishing tidings of the Philosophy
of Clothes; undoubtedly a Spirit addressing Spirits: whoso hath ears,
let him hear.

[1] With us even he still communicates in some sort of mask,
or muffler: and, we have reason to think, under a feigned
name!--O. Y.

On one other point the Editor thinks it needful to give warning:
namely, that he is animated with a true though perhaps a feeble
attachment to the Institutions of our Ancestors; and minded to defend
these, according to ability, at all hazards; nay, it was partly with a
view to such defence that he engaged in this undertaking. To stem, or
if that be impossible, profitably to divert the current of Innovation,
such a Volume as Teufelsdroeckh's, if cunningly planted down, were no
despicable pile, or floodgate, in the logical wear.

For the rest, be it nowise apprehended, that any personal connexion of
ours with Teufelsdroeckh, Heuschrecke, or this Philosophy of Clothes
can pervert our judgment, or sway us to extenuate or exaggerate.
Powerless, we venture to promise, are those private Compliments
themselves. Grateful they may wel