feeling of divided duty, than the portion of manufactured
calf-skin appropriated to the peripatetic purposes
of these gentry; they are, in point of fact, invariably
that description of mud-markers known in the purlieus
of Liecester-square, and at all denominations of “boots”—great,
little, red, and yellow—as eight-and-sixpenny
Bluchers. But the afore-mentioned drabs are strapped
down with such pertinacity as to leave the observer
in extreme doubt whether the Prussian hero of that
name is their legitimate sponsor, or the glorious
Wellington of our own sea-girt isle. Indeed, it
has been rumoured that (as there never was a pair
of either of the illustrious heroes) these gentlemen,
for the sake of consistency, invariably perambulate
in one of each. We scarcely know whether
it be so or not—we merely relate what we
have heard; but we incline to the two Bluchers,
because of the eight-and-six. The
only additional expense likely to add any emolument
to the tanner’s interest (we mean no
pun) is the immense extent of sixpenny straps generally
worn. These are described by a friend of ours
as belonging to the great class of coaxers;
and their exertions in bringing (as a nautical man
would say) the trowsers to bear at all, is worthy
of notice. There is a legend extant (a veritable
legend, which emanated from one of the fraternity
who had been engaged three weeks at her Majesty’s
theatre, as one of twenty in an unknown chorus, the
chief peculiarity of the affair being the close approximation
of some of his principal foreign words to “Tol
de rol,” and “Fal the ral ra"), in which
it was asserted, that from a violent quarrel with
a person in the grass-bleached line, the body corporate
determined to avoid any unnecessary use of that commodity.
In the way of wristbands, the malice of the above void
is beautifully nullified, inasmuch as the most prosperous
linen-draper could never wish to have less linen on
hand. As we are describing the genus in
black and white, we may as well state
at once, those are the colours generally casing
the throats from whence their sweet sounds issue;
these ties are garnished with union pins, whose
strong mosaic tendency would, in the Catholic
days of Spain (had they been residents), have consigned
them to the lowest dungeons of the Inquisition, and
favoured them with an exit from this breathing world,
amid all the uncomfortable pomp of an auto-da-fe.
It is a fact on record, that no one of the body ever had a cold in his head; and this peculiarity, we presume, exempts them from carrying pocket-handkerchiefs, a superfluity we never witnessed in their hands, though they indulge in snuff-boxes which assume the miniture form of French plum-cases, richly embossed, with something round the edges about as much in proportion to the box as eighteen insides are to a small tax-cart. This testimonial is generally (as the