that in their sleep they mutter their affairs," what shall be said of
the walking revery-babblers? I have met men who were evidently rolling
over, "like a sweet morsel under the tongue," some speech they were
about to make, and others who were framing curses. I remember once
that, while walking behind an apparently respectable old gentleman, he
suddenly uttered the exclamation, "Well, I'm d----d!" and then quietly
resumed his usual manner. Whether he had at that moment become impressed
with a truly orthodox disbelief in his ultimate salvation, or whether he
was simply indignant, I never could tell.

I have been hesitating for some time to speak--or if indeed to speak
at all--of that lovely and critic-defying sex, whose bright eyes
and voluble prattle have not been without effect in tempering the
austerities of my peripatetic musing. I have been humbly thankful that
I have been permitted to view their bright dresses and those charming
bonnets which seem to have brought the birds and flowers of spring
within the dreary limits of the town, and--I trust I shall not be deemed
unkind in saying it--my pleasure was not lessened by the reflection that
the display, to me at least, was inexpensive. I have walked in--and
I fear occasionally on--the train of the loveliest of her sex who has
preceded me. If I have sometimes wondered why two young ladies always
began to talk vivaciously on the approach of any good-looking fellow;
if I have wondered whether the minor-like qualities of all large
show-windows at all influenced their curiosity regarding silks and
calicoes; if I have ever entertained the same ungentlemanly thought
concerning daguerreotype show-cases; if I have ever misinterpreted the
eye-shot which has passed between two pretty women--more searching,
exhaustive and sincere than any of our feeble ogles; if I have ever
committed these or any other impertinences, it was only to retire beaten
and discomfited, and to confess that masculine philosophy, while it