inch
and a half longer. And for these two reasons: first, that, since a
squat, broad, dumpy foot is much uglier than a long thin one, therefore
you may always diminish the _appearance_ of breadth, by adding to the
_reality_ of length; and next, that when the shoe is long, the toes have
plenty of room, and commonly 'tis here that "the shoe pinches." No one
has corns on his heels or the sides of his feet, let his shoes or boots
be as narrow as he can well bear them: it is upon those poor, pent up,
imprisoned, distorted joints of the toes, that the rubs of the world
come, and that the corning process goes on. If you would cure yourself,
reader, of the most obdurate corn, or if you would guarantee your
children from ever having any, let them, and do you yourself, wear
French _chaussures_; or else have the boots, &c., made fitting well to
the foot at the side, and with exactly one inch, at the least, to spare
in length, when standing in them. We'll bet you a hundred to one on the
result: and you may ask any _cordonnier_ in the Rue de Richelieu.

English shoemakers, be it observed, are nearly a century behind their
Gallic brethren in the craft; they work more clumsily--with less art,
less means, and less desire to please; they have no invention in the
higher parts of their science, and they are abominably dear. We do not
wish to disparage any thing in our native country--far from it; but take
the hint, gentle reader; whatever your friends may say about it, always
buy a French shoe or boot in preference to an English one; if of equal
quality, the cut of the French is sure to be better; if not quite so
strong, yet the goodness of the fit makes the thing wear longer. Above
all, whenever you go to Paris, lay in as large a stock of these things
as your purse will allow; they never get worse for age, and they are
cheaper and better there than in any other part of the world. The next
time you meet us in the Park, we'll show you a pair of boots made for us
by Legrand in 1841, which we have ridden in and walked in now three
winters; there is not a crack in them; they, like their master, have
never lost their _soles_, (we can't say so much for our _hearts_,) they
fit us like our own skin, and they cost less than a pound sterling.
_Dear_ old Hoby may go and hang himself!

From the regions of mud, dust, leather, and blacking, we will now
reascend to the higher localities of the human person, and will fasten
ourselves round the reader's