A CHAPTER ON BOOTS.

"Boots? Boots!" Yes, Boots! we can write upon boots--we can moralise upon
boots; we can convert them, as _Jacques_ does the weeping stag in "As You
Like It," (or, whether you like it or not,) into a thousand similes. First,
for--but, "our _sole's_ in arms and eager for the fray," and so we will at
once head our dissertation as we would a warrior's host with

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WELLINGTONS.

These are the most judicious species of manufactured calf-skin; like their
great "godfather," they are perfect as a whole; from the binding at the top
to the finish at the toe, there is a beautiful unity about their
well-conceived proportions: kindly considerate of the calf, amiably
inclined to the instep, and devotedly serviceable to the whole foot, they
shed their protecting influence over all they encase. They are walked about
in not only as protectors of the feet, but of the honour of the wearer.
Quarrel with a man if you like, let your passion get its steam up even to
blood-heat, be magnificent while glancing at your adversary's Brutus, grand
as you survey his chin, heroic at the last button of his waistcoat,
unappeased at the very knees of his superior kersey continuations,
inexorable at the commencement of his straps, and about to become abusive
at his shoe-ties, the first cooler of your wrath will be the Hoby-like
arched instep of his genuine Wellingtons, which, even as a drop of oil upon
the troubled ocean, will extend itself over the heretofore ruffled surface
of your temper.--Now for

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