Is a man little? Let him always, if possible, stoop. We are sometimes
tempted to lay sprawling in the mud fellows of from five feet to five
feet eight, who carry the back of their heads on the extreme summit of
their back-bone, and gape up to heaven as if they scorned the very
ground. Let no little man wear iron heels. When we visit a friend of
ours in Queen-street we are disturbed from our labours or conversation
by a sound which resembles the well-timed marching of a file of infantry
or a troop of dismounted dragoons. We hobble as fast as possible to the
window, and are sure to see some chappie of about five feet high
stumping on the pavement with his most properly named cuddy-heels; and
we stake our credit, we never yet heard a similar clatter from any of
his majesty's subjects of a rational and gentlemanly height--We mean
from five feet eleven (our own height) up to six feet three.
Is a man tall? Let him never wear a surtout. It is the most unnatural,
and therefore the most awkward dress that ever was invented. On a tall
man, if he be thin, it appears like a cossack-trouser on a stick leg; if
it be buttoned, it makes his leanness and lankness still more appalling
and absurd; if it be open, it appears to be no part of his costume, and
leads us to suppose that some elongated habit-maker is giving us a
specimen of that rare bird, the flying tailor.
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