and her ladies, have passed
through. I, in my uniform, of the --th, and a number of young
fellows (who are evidently admiring my legs and envying my distingue
appearance), are waiting round the entrance-door, where a huge Heyduke
is standing, and announcing the titles of the guests as they arrive.

"HERR OBERHOF- UND BAU-INSPEKTOR VON SPECK!" shouts the Heyduke; and
the little Inspector comes in. His lady is on his arm huge, in towering
plumes, and her favorite costume of light blue. Fair women always dress
in light blue or light green; and Frau von Speck is very fair and stout.

But who comes behind her? Lieber Himmel! It is Dorothea! Did earth,
among all the flowers which have sprung from its bosom, produce ever one
more beautiful? She was none of your heavenly beauties, I tell you. She
had nothing ethereal about her. No, sir; she was of the earth earthy,
and must have weighed ten stone four or five, if she weighed an ounce.
She had none of your Chinese feet, nor waspy, unhealthy waists, which
those may admire who will. No: Dora's foot was a good stout one; you
could see her ankle (if her robe was short enough) without the aid of
a microscope; and that envious little, sour, skinny Amalia von
Mangelwurzel used to hold up her four fingers and say (the two girls
were most intimate friends of course), "Dear Dorothea's vaist is so much
dicker as dis." And so I have no doubt it was.

But what then? Goethe sings in one of his divine epigrams:--

"Epicures vaunting their taste, entitle me vulgar and savage, Give them
their Brussels-sprouts, but I am contented with cabbage."

I hate your little women--that is, when I am in love with a tall one;
and who would not have loved Dorothea?

Fancy her, then, if you please, about five feet four inches high--fancy
her in the family color of light blue, a little scarf covering the most
brilliant shoulders in the world; and a pair of gloves clinging close
round an arm that may, perhaps, be somewhat too large now, but that
Juno might have envied then. After the fashion of young ladies on the
continent, she wears no jewels or gimcracks: her only ornament is a
wreath of vine-leaves in her hair, with little clusters of artificial
grapes. Down on her shoulders falls the brown hair, in rich liberal
clusters; all that health, and good-humor, and beauty can do for her
face, kind nature has done for hers. Her eyes are frank, sparkling, and
kind. As for her cheeks, what paint-box or dictiona