If now, before reopening the great Clothes-Volume, we ask what our degree of progress, during these Ten Chapters, has been, towards right understanding of the Clothes-Philosophy, let not our discouragement become total.  To speak in that old figure of the Hell-gate Bridge over Chaos, a few flying pontoons have perhaps been added, though as yet they drift straggling on the Flood; how far they will reach, when once the chains are straightened and fastened, can, at present, only be matter of conjecture.

So much we already calculate:  Through many a little loophole, we have had glimpses into the internal world of Teufelsdrockh; his strange mystic, almost magic Diagram of the Universe, and how it was gradually drawn, is not henceforth altogether dark to us.  Those mysterious ideas on TIME, which merit consideration, and are not wholly unintelligible with such, may by and by prove significant.  Still more may his somewhat peculiar view of Nature, the decisive Oneness he ascribes to Nature.  How all Nature and Life are but one Garment, a “Living Garment,” woven and ever a-weaving in the “Loom of Time;” is not here, indeed, the outline of a whole Clothes-Philosophy; at least the arena it is to work in?  Remark, too, that the Character of the Man, nowise without meaning in such a matter, becomes less enigmatic:  amid so much tumultuous obscurity, almost like diluted madness, do not a certain indomitable Defiance and yet a boundless Reverence seem to loom forth, as the two mountain-summits, on whose rock-strata all the rest were based and built?

Nay further, may we not say that Teufelsdrockh’s Biography, allowing it even, as suspected, only a hieroglyphical truth, exhibits a man, as it were preappointed for Clothes-Philosophy?  To look through the Shows of things into Things themselves he is led and compelled.  The “Passivity” given him by birth is fostered by all turns of his fortune.  Everywhere cast out, like oil out of water, from mingling in any Employment, in any public Communion, he has no portion but Solitude, and a life of Meditation.  The whole energy of his existence is directed, through long years, on one task:  that of enduring pain, if he cannot cure it.  Thus everywhere do the Shows of things oppress him, withstand him, threaten him with fearfullest destruction:  only by victoriously penetrating into Things themselves can he find peace and a stronghold.  But is not this same looking through the Shows, or Vestures, into the Things, even the first preliminary to a Philosophy of Clothes?  Do we not, in all this, discern some beckonings towards the true higher purport of such a Philosophy; and what shape it must assume with such a man, in such an era?

Perhaps in entering on Book Third, the courteous Reader is not utterly without guess whither he is bound:  nor, let us hope, for all the fantastic Dream-Grottos through which, as is our lot with Teufelsdrockh, he must wander, will there be wanting between whiles some twinkling of a steady Polar Star.