The distinction between Thomas Carlyle and his few followers is that which mostly exists between originals and imitations. However peculiar or discursive Carlyle may be, his principal subject is coherent, forming a definite whole and driving at a distinct object. If all of his successive works do not exhibit an advance upon their predecessors, (which we think they generally do,) they at least display variety; they are not mere repetitions. His followers, among whom Mr. Emerson is the most conspicuous, do not possess this coherence, or show much substantial improvement; doing, in fact, little more than repeat themselves. The diction, which with Carlyle is merely a mode, reflective of a cast of thought, or rather of a peculiar conception of ideas, is with Emerson a thing of itself, a substantive being. Hence Carlyle has a style, odd as it may be; Emerson's is more a mannerism than a style. Not the mannerism of habit, taste, or too much work, but a cultivated mannerism; a something which the writer not only sees but pronounces good. He not only moves in a rut, but makes the rut to move in.

As far as regards close and pointed expression, the present book may occasionally exhibit an improvement upon Mr. Emerson's former writings. In other respects it makes no advance, if indeed it does not fall back. Paradox, which formerly was confined to particular ideas, now extends to whole sections of the book; the views, if not the arguments, are often vague or unsatisfactory; and, except in certain passages, the composition seems to us rather inferior—there is effort without effect.