during the inundation which deluged the whole country around I was
unable to stir from the house, I enjoyed abundant opportunity of
cultivating the acquaintance of my hostess, and it is but fair that my
reader, who has journeyed so far with me, should have an introduction.

Mrs. Healy, the sole proprietor of the "Burton Arms," was of some five
and fifty--"or by'r lady," three score years, of a rubicund and hale
complexion; and though her short neck and corpulent figure might have set
her down as "doubly hazardous," she looked a good life for many years to
come. In height and breadth she most nearly resembled a sugar-hogshead,
whose rolling, pitching motion, when trundled along on edge, she emulated
in her gait. To the ungainliness of her figure her mode of dressing not
a little contributed. She usually wore a thick linsey-wolsey gown, with
enormous pockets on either side, and, like Nora Creina's, it certainly
inflicted no undue restrictions upon her charms, but left

"Every beauty free,
To sink or swell as heaven pleases."

Her feet--ye gods! Such feet--were apparelled in listing slippers, over
which the upholstery of her ancles descended, and completely relieved the
mind of the spectator as to the superincumbent weight being
disproportioned to the support; I remember well my first impression on
seeing those feet and ancles reposing upon a straw footstool, while she
took her afternoon dose, and I wondered within myself if elephants were
liable to the gout. There are few countenances in the world, that if
wishing to convey an idea of, we cannot refer to some well-known
standard; and thus nothing is more common than to hear comparisons with
"Vulcan--Venus--Nicodemus," and the like; but in the present case, I am
totally at a loss for any thing resembling the face of the worth Mrs.
Healy, except it be, perhaps, that most ancient and sour visage we used
to see upon old circular iron rappers formerly--they make none of them
now--the only difference being, that Mrs. Healy's nose had no ring
through it; I am almost tempted to add, "more's the pity."

Such was she in "the flesh;" would that I could say, she was more
fascinating in the "spirit!" but alas, truth, from which I never may
depart in these "my confessions," constrains me to acknowledge the
reverse. Most persons in this miserable world of ours, have some
prevailing, predominating characteristic, which usually gives the tone