among the very cleanest of his majesty's subjects. The moment you shake
hands with them, you feel in the firm flesh of palm and finger that
their heart's blood circulates purely and freely from the point of the
highest hair on the apex of the pericranium, to the edge of the nail on
the large toe of the right foot. Their eyes are as clean as unclouded
skies--the apples on their cheeks are like those on the tree--what need,
in either case, of rubbing off dust or dew with a towel? What though,
from sleeping without a night-cap, their hair may be a little toosey? It
is not dim--dull--oily--like half-withered sea-weeds! It will soon comb
itself with the fingers of the west wind--that tent-like tree its
toilette--its mirror that pool of the clear-flowing Tweed.

Irishmen are generally sweet--at least in their own green isle.--So are
Scotchmen. Whereas, blindfolded, take a cockney's hand, immediately
after it has been washed and scented, and put it to your nose--and you
will begin to be apprehensive that some practical wit has substituted in
lieu of the sonnet-scribbling bunch of little fetid fives, the body of
some chicken-butcher of a weasel, that died of the plague. We have seen
as much of what is most ignorantly and malignantly denominated dirt--one
week's earth--washed off the feet of a pretty young girl on a Saturday
night, at a single sitting, in the little rivulet that runs almost round
about her father's hut, as would have served a cockney to raise his
mignionette in, or his crop of cresses. How beautifully glowed the
crimson-snow of the singing creature's new-washed feet!

It will be seen, from these hurried remarks, that there is more truth
than Dr. Kitchiner was aware of in his apophthegm--that a clean skin may
be regarded as next in efficacy to a clear conscience. But the doctor
had but a very imperfect notion of the meaning of the words--clean
skin--his observation being not even skin-deep. A wash-hand basin--a bit