ficial integument. I learned this in early boyhood. I was once equipped in a hat of Leghorn straw, having a brim of much wider dimensions than were usual at that time, and sent to school in that portion of my native town which lies nearest to this metropolis. On my way I was met by a "Port-chuck," as we used to call the young gentlemen of that locality, and the following dialogue ensued.
The Port-chuck. Hullo, You-sir, joo know th' wuz gōn-to be a race to-morrah?
Myself. No. Who's gōn-to run, 'n' wher's't gōn-to be?
The Port-chuck. Squire Mico 'n' Doctor Williams, round the brim o' your hat.
These two much-respected gentlemen being the oldest inhabitants at that time, and the alleged racecourse being out of the question, the Port-chuck also winking and thrusting his tongue into his cheek, I perceived that I had been trifled with, and the effect has been to make me sensitive and observant respecting this article of dress ever since. Here is an axiom or two relating to it.
A hat which has been popped, or exploded by being sat down upon, is never itself again afterwards.
It is a favorite illusion of sanguine natures to believe the contrary.
Shabby gentility has nothing so characteristic as its hat. There is always an unnatural calmness
