_For the Table Book._
----On a cool delightful evening which succeeded one of the scorching
days of last summer, I sallied forth for a walk in the neighbourhood of
the city of ----. Chance led me along a path usually much frequented,
which was then covered thick with the accumulated dust of a long
drought; it bore the impression of a thousand busy feet, of every
variety of form and size; from the first steps of the infant, whose
nurse had allowed it to toddle his little journey to the outstretched
arms of her who was almost seated to receive him, to the hobnailed
slouch of the carter, whose dangling lash and dusty jacket annoyed the
well-dressed throng. But three pair of footsteps, which were so perfect
that they could not long have preceded my own, more than all, attracted
my attention; those on the left certainly bore the impress of the
delicately formed foot of a female; the middle ones were shaped by the
ample square-toed, gouty shoe of a senior; and those on the right were
as certainly placed there by the Wellington boot of some dandy; they
were extravagantly right and left, the heel was small and high, for the
middle of the foot did not tread on earth.--My imagination was instantly
at work, to tenant these “leathern conveniences;” the last-mentioned I
felt so certain were inhabited by an officer of the lancers, or an
hussar who had witnessed Waterloo’s bloody fight, that I could almost
hear the tinkle of his military spur. I pictured him young, tall,
handsome, with black mustachios, dark eyes, and, as the poet says,
“His nose was large with curved line
Which some men call the aquiline,
And some do say the Romans bore
Such noses ’fore them to the war.”
The strides were not so long as a tall man would make, but this I
accounted for by supposing they were accommodated to the hobbling gait
of the venerable gentleman in the centre, who I imagined “of the old
school,” and to wear one of those few self-important wigs, which remain
in this our day of sandy scratches. As these powdered coverings never
look well without a three cocked hat, I had e’en placed one upon it, and
almost edged it with gold lace, which, however, would not do--it had
rather loo much of by-gone days:--to my “mind’s eye” he was clothed in a
snuff-coloured suit, and one of his feet, which was not too gouty to
admit of a leather shoe, had upon it a large silver buckle. My “high
fancy” formed the lady a charming creature, sufficiently _en bon point_,
with an exceedingly genteel figure; not such as two parallel lines would
describe, but rather broad on the shoulders, gently tapering to the
waist, then gradually increasing in a delicately flowing outline, such
as the “statue that enchants the world” would exhibit, if animated and
clothed in the present fashionable dress; her voice, of course, was
delightful, and the mild expression of her face to be remembered through
life--it could not be forgotten; in short, she was as Sterne says, “all
that the heart wishes or the eye looks for in woman.” My reverie had now
arrived at its height, my canvass was full, my picture complete, and I
was enjoying the last delicate touches of creative fancy, when a sudden
turn in the road placed before me three persons, who, on a moment’s
reflection, I felt constrained to acknowledge as the authors of the
footsteps which had led me into such a pleasing delusion; but--no more
like the trio of my imagination, than “Hyperion to a satyr!” The dandy
had red hair, the lady a red nose, and the middle man was a gouty
sugar-baker; all very good sort of people, no doubt, except that they
overthrew my aerial castle. I instantly retraced my steps, and was
foolish enough to be sulky, nay, a very “anatomie of melancholy;” till a
draught of “Burton’s” liquid amber at supper made me friends with the
world again----