Let no courteous¹ reader take offence at the opinions broached² in the conclusion of the last Chapter. The Editor himself, on first glancing over that singular passage, was inclined to exclaim: What, have we got not only a Sansculottist, but an enemy to Clothes in the abstract? A new Adamite, in this century, which flatters itself that it is the Nineteenth, and destructive both to Superstition³ and Enthusiasm?

Consider, thou foolish Teufelsdrockh, what benefits unspeakable all ages and sexes derive⁴ from Clothes. For example, when thou thyself, a watery⁵, pulpy⁶, slobbery freshman⁷ and new-comer in this Planet, sattest muling and puking in thy nurse’s arms; sucking thy coral, and looking forth⁸ into the world in the blankest manner, what hadst thou been without thy blankets, and bibs, and other nameless hulls⁹? A terror to thyself and mankind! Or hast thou forgotten the day when thou first receivedst breeches, and thy long clothes became short? The village where thou livedst was all apprised¹⁰ of the fact; and neighbor after neighbor kissed thy pudding-cheek, and gave thee, as handsel, silver or copper¹¹ coins, on that the first gala-day of thy existence. Again, wert not thou, at one period of life, a Buck¹², or Blood, or Macaroni, or Incroyable, or Dandy, or by whatever name, according to year and place, such phenomenon is

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